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MEMOIRS  OF  THE  LITE  OF  THE  RIGHT 
HONORABLE  RICHARD  BRINSLEV  SHERI- 
DAN. By  Thomas  Moore.  Two  volumes  in 
one.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and  black,  with  stoel 
portrait.    $1..50. 

SKETCHES  OP  THE  IRISH  BAR.  By  the 
Right  Honorable  Richard  Lalor  Shicl,  M.  P., 
with  Memoir  and  Notes  by  R.  Shelton,  Mack- 
enzie, D.  C.  L.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and  black, 
with  steel  portrait.    $1.50. 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE 
JOHN  PHILPOT  CURRAN,  late  Master  of  the 
Rolls  in  Ireland.  By  his  son,  William  Henry 
Cnrran,  with  additions  and  notes  by  R.  Shelton 
Mnck^nzie,  D.  C.  L.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and 
biick,  with  steel  portrait.    $L.50. 

I'ERSON.\L  SKETCHES  OF  HIS  OWN 
TIME-^.  By  Sir  Joiiiih  Harrington,  .Indge  of 
the  High  Court  of  Admirality  in  Ireland,  etc., 
etc.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and  black,  with  illustra- 
tions by  Darley.    S1.50.     « 

•98  and  "48.  THE  MODERN  REVOLUTION- 
ARY HISTORY  AND  LITERATURE  OF  IRE- 
LAND. By  John  Savage.  Fourth  Edition, 
with  an  Apiiendox  and  Index.  12nio.,  cloth, 
gold  and  black.    .*1.50. 

BITS  OF  BLARNEY.  Edited  by  R.  Shelton 
Mackenzie,  D.  C.  L.,  Editor  of  Shiel's  Sketches 
of  the  Irish  Bar,  etc.  12mo.,  cloth,  gold  and 
black.    $1.50. 


Bits  of  Blarney. 


EDITED   BY 


R.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE,  D.  C.  L. 


SHIELS'  SKETCHES   OF  THE   IRISH    BAR,"  Etc. 


CHICAGO: 
Belford,  Clarke   &   Co. 

ST.  LOUIS: 

Belford   &   Clarke   Publishing   Co. 
mdccclxxxii. 


TO    MY    PUBLISHER. 

My  Pear  Sir  : — The  deified  heroes  of  the  Norse  mythology 
are  believed  to  spend  their  afternoons  in  drinking  something 
stronger  than  lemonade  out  of  their  enemies'  skulls,  and  some 
ill-natured  persoas  seizing  on  the  idea,  have  declared  that  pub- 
lishers use  the  skulls  of  their  authors  as  drinking-cups,  in  the 
same  manner.  For  my  own  part.  I  discredit  the  assertion — as 
far  as  my  relations  with  yourself  enable  me  to  judge  ;  1  suspect 
that  the  time  has  ffone  by  when  Napoleon's  health  was  drank  as 
"  a  friend  of  literature,"  because  he  had  shot  a  bookseller ;  and 
I  give  YOU  unlimited  permission  to  use  my  skull,  in  the  Noi-bh 
fashion,  provided  that  you  wait  until  "  in  death  I  shall  calm  re- 
cline," when  I  shall  have  no  further  occasion  for  it.  In  such 
case,  the  least  you  can  do  will  be  to  drink  my  memory,  "  in  sol- 
emn silence" — the  beverage  being  whiskey-punch,  as  a  delicate 

compliment  to  my  country. 

(ill) 


iv  Preface. 

Seriously  speaking  (or  writiug),  however,  I  take  leave  to 
dedicate  this  volnme  to  you,  with  the  solemn  assurance  that  my 
doing  so  must  not  be  taken  as — a  Bit  of  Blarney. 

The  book  is  Irish — to  all  intents  and  ourooses.  and  is  put 
forth  witn  the  least  possible  pretence.  It  contams  Legends — 
familiar  to  me  in  my  youth ;  Stories,  which,  more  or  less,  are 
literally  "  founded  upon  facts :"  recollections  of  Eccentric  Char- 
acters, whose  peculiarities  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  exag- 
gerate ; — and  Sketches  of  the  two  great  Irish  leaders  of  the 
last  and  present  century,  Grattan,  wno  won  Xational  Indepen- 
dence for  Ireland,  and  O'Connell,  who  obtained  Emancipation 
for  the  great  majority  of  his  countrymen.  The  Sketch  of  the 
great  Agitator  has  extended  almost  to  a  biography — but  I  knew 
the  man  well,  and  write  of  him  on  that  knowledge.  In  this  vol- 
ume he  is  certainly  entitled  to  a  niche,  having  been  the  greatest 
professor  of  "  Blarney"  these  later  days  nave  seen  or  heard. 
Yours  feithfuLy, 

R.  Shelton  Mackenzie 


CONTENTS. 


FAoa 
BLAENEY  CASTLE 9 

Legend  of  thb  Laks      .........jg 

Legend  of  Coeeio-na-oat  -       •       -       .  »\ 

Legend  of  the  Eock  Close  •       .       .  .       .  -     87 

CON  O'KEEFE  AND  THE  GOLDEN  CUP  ....         85 

LEGENDS  OF  FINN  MAC  COUL -48 

Finn  and  the  Fish      ---.--.-.•gg 
The  Bseaks  of  Balltnascobnet  ...  •  Ci 

Finn  Mao  Coul's  Fingbe-Stonb        ......         64 


The  petrified  pipee— 

1.  Who  the  Piper  was  -...-....74 

2.  What  the  Pipee  did  .....^_,.  55 
8.  How  the  Piper  got  ok  •••....  .91 
4  How  the  Pipes  became  a  Petkifactioh  ....  103 
5.  How  it  all,  ended     .........    121 

THE  GERALDINK 144 


KriBli  Jluiilit^Xts, 


166 
172 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CAPTAIN  KOCK—  p*°* 

1.  The  Wake -151 

2.  Thk  Leadeb      .---•---- 
8.  The  Course  of  True  Love       -..--- 

4.  Chuechtown  Barracks    .-.••-•        -  181 

5.  The  Atiaok  'K  r.0S8Jt0EB  ...  ...  191 

6.  The  Teiai- 201 

A  NIGHT  WITH  THE  WHITEB0Y8 228 

BUCK  ENGLISH  ....  -       -  -       -       -  281 


lEcccntric  (ti)atatt£vn. 

I  HE  BAEl*  O'KELL-S 26» 

FATHER  PROUT 2TJ 

FATHER  PROUTb  SERMON         -       .  288 

IUI»E  DANCING  MASTERS       ---.--'  291 

CHARLEY  CROFTS         ...        -  ....       -    3  5 


HENRY  GRATTAN      ....  .       .       .       -       8!«J 

PANIEL  OCONNELL      -       -       .       •  .....    «4« 


BITS   OF   Br.^RlsrEY. 


How  manj  have  heard  of  •'  Blarney,''  and  how 
few  know  how  and  why  this  appropriate  xrrr  Las 
originated!  How  could  they,  indeed,  unless  they 
had  made  a  pilgrunage  to  the  Castle,  as  I  did, 
in  order  to  manoeuvre  Tim  Cronin  into  a  narration 
of  its  legend  '^  —  "'ticy  may  go  to  Jilanwy,  whenever 
they  please,  out  the  genius  loci  has  vanished.  Tim 
Cronin  has  been  gathered  to  his  fathers.  By  no 
lingering  or  vulgar  disease  did  he  perish ;  he 
died of  a  sudden. 

Scarcely  any  part  of  Ireland  has  attained  more 
celebrity  than  the  far-famed  village  of  Blarney,  in 
the  county,  and  near  the  city  of  Cork.  At  Blarney 
may  be  seen  the  mysterious  talisman,  which  has  the 
extraordinary  power  of  conferring  remarkable  gifts 
of  persuasion  on  the  lips  which,  with  due  reverence 
and  proper  faith  in  its  virtues,  invoke  the  hidden 
genii  of  The  Stone,  to  yield  them  its  inspiration. 
The  ceremony  is  brief: — only  a  kiss  on  the  flinty 
rock,  and  the  kisser  is  instantly  endowed  with  the 
1* 


10  BITS   OF   ELARXEr. 

hcippy  faculty  of  flattering  tlie  fair  sex  ad  libitum^ 
without  their  ouce  suspecting  that  it  can  be  flattery. 
On  the  masculine  gender  it  is  not  less  effective. 
Alt^ogether,  it  enables  the  kisser,  like  History, 

"  To  lie  like  truth,  and  still  most  truly  lie  "" 

Immortal  poesie  has  already  celebrated  the  local- 
ity of  Blarney.  The  far-famed  chanson^  written  by 
Richard  Alfred  Milliken,*  and  called  "  The  Groves 
of  Blarney,"  has  been  heard  or  read  by  every 
one : — in  these  later  days  the  polyglot  edition,  by 
him  who  has  assumed  the  name  of  Father  Prout, 
is  well  known  to  the  public.  There  is  an  inter- 
polated verse,  which  may  be  adopted  (as  it  some- 
timos  is)  into  the  original  chayison,  on  account  of 
the  earnestness  with  which  it  declares  that 

"  TLe  stone  this  is,  whoever  kisses, 
He  never  misses  to  grow  eloquent : 
Tis  he  may  clamber  to  a  lady's  chamber, 
Or  become  a  member  of  Parliament." 

Blarney   Castle    is  surrounded    by  the   Groves 

*  In  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott,  this  renowned  Song  is  attrib- 
uted to  "  the  poetical  Dean  of  Cork"  (Dr.  Burrowes,  who  wrote 
**  The  Night  before  Larry  was  stretched"),  but  really  was  written 
by  Milliken,  a  poetical  lawyer  of  whom  Maguire  says  (O'Doherty 
Papers,  vol.  ii.,  p.  181)  that  not  even  Christopher  North  him- 
Belf— 

"  Be  he  tipsy  or  sober, 

Was  not  more  than  his  match,  in  wine,  wisdom,  or  wit." 


BLAHXKV    CASTLE.  11 

mentioned  in  the  song.  It  stands  four  miles  to 
the  northwest  of  "  the  beautiful  city  called  Cork," 
and,  of  course,  in  the  fox-hunting  district  of  Mus- 
kerry.  All  that  can  now  be  seen  are  the  remains 
of  an  antique  castellated  pile,  to  the  east  of  which 
was  rather  incongruously  attached,  a  century  ago,  a 
larsre  mansion  of  modern  architecture. 

The  Castle  stands  on  the  north  side  of  a  precip- 
itous ridge  of  limestone  rock,  rising  from  a  deep 
valley,  and  its  base  is  washed  by  a  small  and  beau- 
tifully clear  river  calltjd  the  Aw-martin.  A  large, 
square,  and  massive  tower — a  sort  of  Keep, — ^is  all 
that  remains  of  the  original  fortress.  The  top  of 
this  building  is  surrounded  with  a  parapet,  breast- 
high,  and  on  the  very  summit  is  the  famous  Stone 
which  is  said  to  possess  the  power,  already  men- 
tioned, of  conferring  on  every  gentleman  who 
kisses  it  the  peculiar  property  of  telling  any  thing, 
in  the  way  of  praise  (commonly  called  flattery), 
with  unblushing  cheek  and  "  forehead  unabashed." 
A?  the  fair  sex  have  to  receive,  rather  than  bestow 
compliments,  the  oscular  homage  to  the  Stone  con- 
veys no  power  to  Ihem.  From  the  virtues  which  it 
communicates  to  the  masculine  pilgrims,  we  have 
the  well-known  term  blame?/  and  blarney-stone. 

Tlie  real  Stone  is  in  such  a  dangerous  position^ 
from  its  elevation,  that  it  is  rarely  kissed,  except  by 
very  adventurous  pilgrims  of  the  Tom  Sheridan 
class,  who  will  do  the  thing,  and  not  be  content 


12  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

with  saying  they  have  done  it !  The  stone  which 
.officiates  as  its  deputy,  is  one  Avhich  was  loosened 
by  a  shot  from  the  cannon  of  OHver  Cromwell's 
troops,  w^ho  were  encamped  on  the  hiir  behind  the 
Castle.  This  stone  is  secured  in  its  place  by  iron 
stanchions,  and  it  is  this  that  the  visitors  kiss,  as 
aforesaid,  and  by  mistake.  The  Song,  it  may  be 
remembered,  speaks  of  the  Cromwellian  bombard- 
ment of  the  Castle : 

"  'Tis  Lady  Jeffreys  that  owys  this  station, 

Like  Alexander,  or  like  Helen,  fair. 
There's  no  commander  throughout  the  nation 

In  emulation  can  with  her  compare  : 
Such  walls  surround  her,  that  no  uine-pouuder 

Could  ever  plunder  her  place  of  strength. 
Till  Oliver  Cromwell  he  did  her  pummel, 

And  made  a  breach  in  her  battlement." 

Between  Blarney  Castk  and  the  hill  whereon 
Cromw^ell's  troops  bivouacked,  is  a  sweet  vale  called 
the  Rock  Close.  This  is  a  charming  spot,  whereon 
(or  legends  lie)  the  little  elves  of  fairy -land  once 
loved  to  assemble  in  midnight  revelry.  At  one 
end  of  this  vale  is  a  lake  of  unfathomable  depth, 
and  Superstition  delights  to  relate  stories  of  its 
Avouders. 

When  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  in  Ireland,  he  visited 
Blarney,  accompanied  by  Anne  Scott,  Miss  Edge- 
worth,  and  Mr.  Lockhart.     A  few  days  after  he 


THE    ROCK   CLOSE.  IS 

was  there,  it  was  my  fortune  to  tread  in  his  steps  to 
the  same  classic  shrine. 

The  barefooted  and  talkative  guide  who  would 
accompany  me  over  the  Castle,  thus  described  "  the 
Ariosto  of  the  North,"  and  his  companions : — "  A 
tall,  bulky  man,  who  halted  a  great  deal,  came  here,  > 
with  his  daughter  and  a  very  small  lady,  and  a 
dash  of  a  gentleman,  v/ith  a  bright  keen  eye  that 
looked  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere  in  a 
minute.  The}'  thrust  themselves,  ransacking,  into 
every  nook  and  cranny  that  a  rat  would  not  go 
through,  scarcely.  When  the  lams  gentleman 
came  to  the  top  of  the  Castle,  wasn't  he  delighted, 
and  didn't  he  take  all  the  country  down  upon 
paper  with  a  pencil,  while  one  of  us  sang  'The 
Groves  of  Blarney.'  He  made  us  sing  it  again, 
and  gave  me  a  crown-piece,  and  said  that  he'd 
converse  a  poem  on  the  Castle,  himself,  may-be  !" 

While  I  am  thus  gossiping,  I  am  neglecting  Tim 
Cronin,  "the  bist  story-teller"  (to  use  his  own 
words)  "within  the  whole  length,  and  breadth,  and 
cubic  mensuration  of  the  Island." 

After  my  visit  to  Blarney  Castle,  I  met  this 
worthy.  I  had  struck  fi'om  the  common  path  into 
that  which  led  through  the  Kock  Close.  This 
valley  is  divided  into  several  fields,  all  of  which 
are  extremely  fertile,  except  that  immediately 
washed  by  the  waters  of  the  lake.  It  was  now 
far  in    the   summer;    and,    although   the   mowers 


14  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

had  to  cut  down  the  rich  grass  of  the  other  fields, 
there  was  scarcely  a  blade  upon  this.  It  was  as 
smooth,  green,  and  close-shaven  as  the  trim  turf 
before  a  cottage  ornee.  While  I  was  remarking 
tills,  I  was  startled  by  a  sudden  touch  upon  the 
.shoulder,  and,  turning  round,  I  found  myself  vis-a- 
vis  with  a  Herculean-built  fellow,  who  doffed  his 
hat,  with  a  sort  of  rude  courtesy,  made  an  attempt 
at  a  bow,  and,  before  I  could  say  a  word,  struck 
into  conversation. 

"  Wondering  at  this  meadow  being  so  bare,  I 
warrant  you,  sir?" 

I  confessed  that  it  had  surprised  me. 

"Didn't  know  the  why  nor  the  wherefore  of  it, 
may-be?  It's  Tim  Cronin — and  that's  myself — 
that  can  tell  you  all  about  it,  before  you  have  time 
to  get  fat." 

I  ventured  to  exhibit  my  ignorance,  by  asking 
who  Tim  Cronin  might  be  ? 

"  Faith,  sir,  you  may  know  a  great  deal  of  Latin 
and  Greek — and  'tis  easy  to  sec  that  the  College 
mark  is  upon  you — but  you  know  little  of  real  lit- 
erature in  old  Ireland,  if  you  don't  know  me.  Not 
know  Cronin,  the  renowned  Philomath,  that  bothered 
the  Provo-it  of  old  Trinity  in  Algebra — from  the 
Saxon  o/,  noblj,  and  the  Arabic  Other,  the  philoso- 
pher? Never  once  heard,  perhaps,  of  the  great 
Cronin  that  does  all  the  problems  and  answers,  for 
the  Lady's  Diary,  in  mathematics — from  the  Greek 


THE    ROCK   CLOSE.  15 

matheina,  instruction?  Nothing  like  getting  at  the 
roots  of  words — the  unde  derivatur  F" 

Even  at  the  hazard  of  appearing  as  an  ignoramus 
in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Cronin,  I  was  fain  to  admit  that 
I  had  not  previously  heard  of  his  name  and  erudi- 
tion. I  ventured  to  intimate,  as  a  sort  of  half- 
apology,  that  I  was  a  stranger  in  that  part  of  the 
country. 

"  Strange  enough,  I'll  be  bound,"  said  he,  Avith  a 
sbrag  of  the  shoulders.  "Know,  then,  that  I  am 
that  same  Tim  Cronin, —  'our  ingenious  correspond- 
ent,' as  the  Mathematical  Journal  calls  me,  when  it 
refuses  one  of  my  articles,  'from  want  of  space,' — 
bad  luck  to  'em,  as  if  they  could  not  push  out  some- 
thing else  to  make  room  for  me.  Curious,  sir,  not 
to  have  heard  of  me,  that  keeps  one  of  the  finest 
academics,  under  a  hedge,  in  the  Province  of  ^fun- 
ster !  Just  sit  down  on  the  bank  here,  and  I'll  soon 
enlighten  you  so,  about  that  good-looking  lake  be- 
fore your  two  eyes,  that  I'll  be  bound  you  w^on't 
forget  me  in  a  hurry." 

Complying  with  the  request  of  this  august  per- 
sonage, I  had  the  satisfaction  of  listening  to  his 
legend,  thus; 


LEGEND  OF  THE  LAKE. 

Once  upon  a  time,  and  there  was  no  lake  here,  at 
ill  I  at  all.  In  the  middle  of  the  place  where  that 
lake  is,  there  stood  a  large  castle,  and  in  it  dwelt  an 
unbaptized  giant^t  was  before  blessed  Saint  Patrick 
came  into  the  country,  Heaven  rest  his  soul — and 
this  giant  had  martial  rule  over  all  the  country,  far 
and  near. 

In  his  time,  the  Aw-martin,  nor  any  other  river, 
did  not  flow  near  us.  Indeed,  though  there  was 
plenty  of  wine  in  the  Castle,  there  was  a  great  want 
of  water.  This  was  very  inconvenient  for  the  ladies 
— the  fellow  had  as  many  wives  as  a  Turk — because 
they  were  always  wanting  to  wash  their  clothes,  and 
their  pretty  faces,  and  their  white  hands,  and  their 
well-shaped  bodies ;  and,  more  than  that,  they  could 
not  make  themselves  a  raking  cup  of  tea,  by  any 
means,  f<jr  the  want  of  good  soft  water.  So,  one  and 
all,  they  sent  a  petition  to  the  giant,  praying  that  he 
would  have  the  kindness  to  procure  them  a  well  of 
water.  When  h3  read  it,  he  made  no  more  ado  but 
whipped  off  through  the  air — just  like  a  bird  of 
Paradise — to  his  old  aunt,  who  was  a  fairy,  and  had 
foretold  that,  some  day  or  other,  water  would  be  the 


LEGEND   OF   THE    LAKE.  IT 

death  of  liim.     Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  that  he 
always  took  his  liquor  neat. 

Well,  he  told  her  what  he  had  come  about,  and 
after  a  world  of  entreaty — ^for  she  had  a  foreboding 
that  something  unfortunate  would  come  of  it — the 
old  fairy  put  a  little  bottle  into  his  hands.  "Take 
this,"  said  she,  "  and  drill  a  hole  in  the  rock  at  the 
foot  of  the  Castle  barbican,  where  the  sun  throws 
his  latest  ray  before  he  sinks  into  the  west.  Make 
a  stone-cover  for  the  top  of  it — one  that  will  fit  it 
exactly.  Then  pour  the  water  from  this  bottle  into 
that  hole  in  the  rock,  and  there  will  be  a  well  of 
pure  water,  for  the  use  of  yourself  and  your  family. 
But,  Avhen  no  one  is  actually  taking  water  out  of 
this  well,  be  sure  that  the  close-fitting  stone-cover  is 
al  ways  left  upon  it,  for  it  is  the  nature  of  the  liquid 
to  overflow,  unless  it  be  kept  confined." 

He  gave  her  a  thousand  thanks,  and  home  he 
went.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  drill  a  hole  in 
the  rock  (and  he  did  not  find  that  a  very  easy  job), 
then  to  fit  it  with  an  air-tight  stone-cover,  and,  lastly, 
to  pour  in  the  water  out  of  the  little  bottle. 

Sure  enough,  there  immediately  bubbled  up  an 
abundance  of  bright,  clear,  and  sparkling  water. 
The  giant  then  assembled  all  his  family,  and  told 
them  how  the  stone-cover  must  always  be  kept  over 
the  well  when  they  were  not  using  it.  And  then  his 
wives  agreed  that,  as  they  had  been  so  anxious  to 
get  this  water,  one  of  them,  turn  about,  should  sit 


18  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

by  the  well,  day  and  night,  and  see  thut  no  one  left 
it  uncovered.  Thej  were  content  to  submit  to  this 
trouble,  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  losing  the  water. 

Things  went  on  very  well  for  some  Ume.  At  last, 
as  must  be  the  case  when  a  woman  is  to  the  fore,  there 
came  a  tremendous  blow-up.  One  of  the  giant's 
ladies  was  a  foreigner,  and  had  beep  married,  in  her 
own  'country,  before  she  fell  into  h  's  hands.  Mild 
and  pale  she  always  was,  pretty  crepture !  lamenting 
the  land  she  had  left  and  the  lover  she  had  lost.  It 
happened,  one  day  as  she  sat  by  t-he  well,  that  an 
old  pilgrim  came  to  the  gate,  ask^^  for  a  draught 
of  water,  in  God's  name,  and  held  out  his  pitcher 
for  it.  Her  thoughts  were  far  awaj,  never  fear,  but 
she  had  a  tender  heart,  and  she  raised  the  cover 
from  the  well  to  fill  his  vessel.  While  she  was  doing 
this,  the  pilgrim  pulled  off  his  gown  and  his  false 
beaxd,  and  who  should  he  be  but  h^^r  own  husband ! 
She  sprang  off  her  seat  towards  him,  and  then,  faint 
with  joy  and  pale  as  death,  she  sar>k  back  into  the 
oaken  chair  on  which  she  had  be<^n  sitting,  as  the 
guardian  of  the  well.  A  bird  never  flew  through  the 
air  faster  than  he  flew  towards  her.  He  seated  him- 
self beside  her  in  the  chair,  held  her  lovingly  in  his 
arms,  kissed  her  cheeks  and  lips  twenty  times  over, 
called  her  all  manner  of  fond  names,  and  sprinkled 
her  with  water  until  the  fresh  color  came  again  intQ 
her  face,  and  the  warm  life  into  her  heart. 

All  this  time  the  well  was  left  uucoverea   an*- 


LEGEXIi.XlF   THE   I.AKE.  19 

the  waters  rose — rose — rose,  until  they  surrounded 
the  Castle.  Higher  and  higher  did  they  rise,  until,  at 
Jast,  down  fell  the  gates,  and  then  the  stream  rushed 
in,  drowning  every  living  soul  within  the  place,  and 
settling  down  into  the  very  lake  that  we  sit  by  now. 
The  moral  of  the  story  is,  that  the  lady  and  the 
pilgrim  escaped — ^for  the  oaken  chair  supported  them 
and  floated  them  until  they  safely  put  their  feet  on 
dry  land.  All  the  rest  perished,  because  they  had 
willingly  consented  to  live  in  sin  with  the  giant ; 
but  this  one  lady  had  been  kept  there  entirely  against 
her  will.  The  two  thanked  God  for  their  escape, 
and  returned  to  their  own  country,  where  they  lived 
long  and  happily.  It  had  been  the  giant's  pride  to 
put  all  his  best  jewels  on  whoever  kept  watch  over 
the  well,  in  order  that  all  who  passed  might  notice 
them  and  pay  respect  to  his  wealth.  As  this  lady 
had  them  all  upon  her  when  the  Castle  was  swallowed 
up,  she  and  her  husband  had  money  enough,  out 
of  the  sale  of  them,  to  keep  them  in  a  very  genteel 
way  of  life  at  home.  Some  people  say  that,  at  times, 
the  walls  of  the  drowned  Castle  can  be  seen  through 
the  waters  of  the  lake, — but  I  won't  swear  to  the 
fact,  as  I  never  noticed  it  myself. 


Such  was  Tim  Cronin's  account  of  the  formation 
of  the  lake — a  version  more  pleasant  than  probable. 
I  ventured  to  inquire  how  the  meadow  next  th« 


2G  BITS   OF   BLAB^'Er. 

waters  came  to  be  so  bare,  while  all  the  others  bore- 
such  luxuriant  grass  and  grain  ?  Mr.  Cronin  asked 
me,  whether  I  saw  a  gray  rock  on  the  left,  with  three 
pines  on  its  summit.  I  noticed  them,  as  required. 
"  Then,"  said  he,  "look  well  at  the  place  all  around, 
and  I  shall  tell  you  another  story  or  two  about 
Blarney." 

Thus  admonished,  I  took  a  closer  survey  of  the 
place.  The  rock  rose  with  a  gentle  swell  in  the  dis- 
tance, but  its  front  was  so  precipitous  as  to  be  nearly 
perpendicular ;  and  it  was  thickly  covered  with  ivy, 
tangled  like  network,  with  which  were  mingled 
wild  honeysuckle,  dog-rose,  and  other  parasites. 
There  was  a  sort  of  rugged  entrance  at  its  base,  over 
which  the  wild-brier  and  honeysuckle  had  formed 
a  natural  arch.  Except  this,  the  rock  had  a  com- 
monplace aspect. 


THE  LECxEND  OF  COKRIG-NA-CAT. 

We  call  that  rock  by  a  strange  name — ^from  a 
strange  circumstance,  said  Cronin.  Upon  the  top, 
■some  hundreds  of  years  ago,  there  stood  a  castle,  be- 
longing to  the  old  Kings  of  Muskerry.  Some 
•cousin  of  theirs  lived  in  it  with  his  family,  and  was 
^s  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  How  it  happened, 
never  could  be  ascertained ;  but  happen  it  certainly 
•did,  that,  one  night,  castle  and  people  and  all  sud- 
denly disappeared,  I  misdoubt  that  there  were  bad 
spirits  at  work.  However,  the  general  belief  is, 
that  the  rock  opened  and  swallowed  all  up,  and  that 
the  lord  and  lady  are  kept  there,  spsll-bound,  as  it 
were,  in  the  shape  of  cats.  From  this,  the  rock  is 
called  Corrig-na-cat,  or  the  Cat  Eock.  'Tis  a  mightv 
pretty  derivation. 

Whether  the  castle  were  swallowed  up  in  that 
manner,  or  not,  strange  sights  have  been  seen,  by 
the  light  of  the  full  moon,  about  that  place.  There 
is  a  little  green  spot  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  where 
there  is  a  fairy-circle ;  on  that  spot  sweet  music  has 
been  heard  by  night,  and  the  good  people  (as  well 
as  the  fairies)  have  been  seen  dancing  on  the  green 
turf,    dressed   in  green   and  gold,    with  beautifuJ 

(21) 


22  BITS   OF   BLARNEY, 

crowns  upon  their  heads,  and  white  wands  in  their 
little  hands.  Ah,  sir,  you  may  smile,  but  that  s  the 
belief  in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  he'd  be  looked 
upon  as  no  better  than  a  heathen  who'd  venture  ta 
say  a  word  against  it. 

My  grandfather,  although  a  trifle  given  to  orink^ 
was  as  honest  a  man  as  ever  broke  bread  One 
summer  night,  while  he  lay  in  bed,  between  asleep. 
and  awake,  he  heard  a  strange  deep  voice  speak  ta 
him.  It  said,  "  The  words  of  fate  !  heed  them.  Go, 
at  midnight,  to  Corrig-na-cat ;  take  with  you  a  box 
of  candles  and  a  hundred  fathoms  of  line  ;  fasten  one 
end  of  the  line  to  the  tree  that  grows  just  outside  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  and,  tying  the  other  end  round 
your  waist,  boldly  advance  with  a  pair  of  lighted 
candles  in  your  hands :  the  use  of  the  line  is,  that, 
you  may  roll  it  up  as  you  come  back,  and  not  lose 
your  way.  Keep  to  the  right-hand  side,  and  go  on. 
until  you  come  to  a  large  room  with  two  cats  in  it. 
In  the  room  beyond  that,  there  is  as  much  gold  as 
would  buy  a  kingdom.  You  may  take  with  you  a, 
bag  to  carry  away  as  much  of  it  as  you  please ;  but,, 
on  your  peril,  do  not  touch  anything  else ;  your  life 
will  not  be  worth  a  brass  sixpence,  if  you  do." 

You  may  be  sure,  sir,  that  this  piece  of  informa- 
tion astonished  my  grandfather.  But  he  was  a 
sensible  man,  and,  doubting  whether  two  heads 
would  be  better  than  one  in  such  a  serious  matter^ 
nudged  my  grandmother  with  his  elbow,  to  know  if 


»  LEGEND   OF   CORKIG-NA-CAT,  23 

she  -was  awake.  She  slept — sound  as  a  top ;  so  lie 
let  her  sleep  on.  He  was  rather  too  knowing  to  let 
her  into  the  secret.  He  thought  over  all  that  he  had 
ever  heard  of  Corrig-na-cat ;  he  called  to  mind  how 
his  mother  had  always  said  that  our  family  were  tha 
real  descendants  of  the  lord  and  lady  of  the  castle. 
He  beo-an  to  fancy  that  this  was  some  great  oracle 
that  had  come  to  visit  him,  in  order  that  he  might 
break  the  spell  that  kept  the  castle  and  its  inhabi- 
tants closed  up  in  the  rock.  Indeed,  he  was  very 
much  perplexed,  but  determined  to  wait  a  bit,  and 
carefully  keep  his  own  counsel. 

A  warning  from  the  world  of  spirits  is  worth 
nothing,  if  it  is  not  repeated.  The  next  night,  my 
grandfather  again  was  cautioned  to  listen  to  the 
words  of  fate.  The  third  night  the  visitation  was 
repeated.  He  knew,  then,  that  the  thing  was  no 
feint ;  and  on  the  fourth  night,  he  stole  out  of  the 
house  to  go  on  the  adventure. 

It  was  as  pitch  dark  as  if  light  had  never  been 
invented.  He  took  the  hundred  fathoms  of  line,  the 
b(jx  of  candles,  a  sack  to  bring  home  a  supply  of 
gold,  and  a  good-sized  flask  of  strong  whiskey. 
"When  he  reached  the  rock,  his  heart  began  to  fail 
him.  The  night  was  so  still  that  he  could  hear  the 
beating  of  his  heart — thump,  thump,  thump,  against 
his  breast.  He  could  hear  the  bats  flying  about,  and 
he  could  see  the  owls  looking  on  him  with  their 
great,  round,  brown  eyes.     Swallowing  most  of  the 


2-i  BITS   OF   BLAHXEr.  « 

contents  of  the  flask  at  one  pull,  he  found  his  spirits 
wonderfully  restored,  and  he  pushed  forward  to  the 
mouth  of  the  cave.  He  fastened  one  end  of  the  line 
to  the  tree ;  he  said  an  Ave  or  two — for  we  are  all 
of  us  a  pious  family — he  drained  the  flask,  and  then 
he  dashed  forward. 

The  way  was  as  straight  as  an  arrow  for  about 
thirty  yards,  but,  after  that,  it  took  as  many  turnings 
and  twistings  as  a  problem  of  Euclid  in  the  sixth 
book,  and  branched  out  into  many  directions.  My 
grandfather  followed  on  the  right-hand  side,  as  he 
had  been  told,  and  soon  found  himself  at  the  gate 
way  of  an  old  hall.  He  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
saw  that  there  were  doors  upon  doors,  leading  off  to 
many  a  place.  He  still  kept  to  the  right,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  found  himself  in  a  state-chamber. 
Pillars  of  white  marble  supported  the  roof,  and,  at 
the  farthest  end,  the  hall  opened  into  an  apartment, 
thn'Ugh  which  there  beamed  a  soft  and  beautiful 
light,  as  if  it  came  from  a  thousand  shaded  lamps. 

Here  was  the  end  of  his  journey.  A  carved 
mantel-piece  of  white  marble  was  over  the  fire- 
place, and  there  lay  two  beautifal  white  cats,  on 
crimson-velvet  cushions,  before  the  fire.  Diamonds 
and  rubies,  emeralds  and  amethysts,  pearls  and 
topazes,  were  piled  on  the  ground  in  heaps,  and 
ceiling  and  walls  were  covered  all  over  with  them, 
so  that  rays  of  light  gleamed  down  upon  hini, 
wherever  he  looked. 


LEGEND    OF    COKKIG-NA-CAT.  25 

There  was  no  living  thing  in  the  room  with  my 
grandfather  but  the  cats.  The  creatures  had  golden 
collars,  embossed  with  diamonds,  round  their  necks; 
and  to  these  were  fastened  long  gold  chains,  which 
just  gave  them  liberty  to  move  round  the  room, 
being  fastened  to  the  walls,  one  at  each  side,  by 
golden  staples.  He  noticed  that  the  animals  steadily 
kept  their  eyes  upon  him,  and  appeared  to  watch 
every  motion  of  his. 

My  grandfather  passed  on  into  the  inner  room.  The 
gold  lay  on  the  floor  like  wheat  in  a  miller's  store. 
He  filled  his  sack  with  the  coin  to  the  brim,  until; 
though  he  was  said  to  be  the  strongest  man  in  the 
whole  barony,  he  had  some  diSiculty  in  lifting  it. 
As  he  passed  through  the  room  in  which  the  cats 
were,  he  paused  for  a  moment,  to  have  a  parting 
glance  at  all  the  treasures  he  was  leaving.  There 
was  one  golden  star,  studded  with  diamonds  as  big 
as  walnuts,  and  blazing  like  a  lamp,  hanging  down 
before  him  from  the  ceiling.  It  was  too  tempting 
He  forgot  the  advice  not  to  touch  anything  but  the 
gold  in  the  inner  room,  and  reached  out  his  hand  to 
seize  the  sparkling  prize.  One  of  the  cats,  who  had 
eagerly  watched  his  motions,  sprang  forward  as  he 
touched  the  jewel,  and  quick  as  a  lightning-stroke, 
hit  out  his  right  eye  with  a  sharp  dash  of  his 
paw.  At  the  same  moment,  an  invisible  hand 
whipped  off  the  sack  of  gold  from  his  shoulders,  as 
if  it  were  only  a  bag  of  feathers.  Out  went  all  the 
9 


26  BITS    OF   BLAKNKY. 

lights.  Mj  grandfather  groped  his  way  out  as  well 
as  he  could,  by  the  help  of  the  guiding-line  fastened 
to  his  wrist,  and  cursed  his  greediness,  that  would 
not  be  content  with  enough.  He  got  home  by  day- 
break, with  only  one  eye  in  his  head,  and  that,  with- 
out meaning  to  joke  on  his  misfortune,  was  the  left  one. 

Next  day  he  sent  for  the  priest,  and  told  him 
what  had  happened.  My  grandmother  said  that  all 
the  misfortune  was  owing  to  her  not  being  in  the 
secret.  The  priest  said  nothing.  Before  long,  all 
the  country  heard  of  the  story,  and  half  the  country 
"believed  it.  To  be  sure,  as  my  grandfather  was 
rather  addicted  to  liquor  (and  there  was  a  private 
still,  in  those  duys,  in  almost  every  corner),  it  was  a^ 
chance  that  he  might  have  dreamt  all  this : — but 
then,  there  was  his  right  eye  absent.  There  were 
some  malicious  people,  indeed,  who  hinted  that  he 
fell  over  the  cliff,  in  a  drunken  fit,  and  that  his  eye 
was  scratched  out  in  that  manner.  But  it  would  ill 
beseem  me  to  make  a  story-teller  of  my  dead-and 
gone  grandfather,  and  so  I  maintain  the  truth  of  his 
own  statement.     If  it  is  not  true,  it  deserves  to  be. 

In  this  conclusion  I  fully  agreed,  and  the  Philo- 
math, proud  of  the  display  of  his  legendary  lore, 
and  happy  on  having  fallen  in  with  a  patient  and 
willing  auditor,  i^pxt  proceeded  to  acquaint  mo  with, 
the  accredited  legend  of  the  meadow  next  the  lake. 
As  before,  I  shall  endeavor,  in  repeating  it.  to  ad 
her^  to  the  very  words  of  my  informant. 


LEGE2SD  OF  THE  ROCK  CLOSE. 

About  a  thousand  years  ago,  or  so — ^but,  of 
course,  after  tbiis  lake  was  formed,  to  fulfil  the  old 
fairy's  prophecy,  that  the  giant  would  come  to  his 
death  by  water — there  was  a  man  who  owned  all 
the  fields  in  the  Rock  Close.  He  was  a  farnfter — a 
plain,  honest  man.  Not  long  after  he  had  purchased 
the  place,  he  noticed  that,  though  this  very  field  we- 
are  now  sitting  in  had  the  same  cultivation  as  the 
others,  it  never  gave  him  any  return.  He  had  no 
idea  of  having  a  meadow  look  like  a  lawn  in  front 
of  a  gentleman's  country-house,  and  lost  no  time  in 
speaking  about  it  to  his  herdsman,  a  knowledgeable 
man,  who  said  it  might  be  worth  while  to  watch  the 
place,  for,  although  he  often  saw  the  blades  of  grass 
a  foot  high  at  night,  all  was  as  closely  shaved  as  a 
bowling-green  in  the  morning.  His  master,  who 
was  one  of  the  old  stock  of  the  Mac  Carthies,  thought 
there  was  reason  in  what  he  said,  and  desired  him 
to  be  on  the  watch,  and  try  to  find  out  the  real  facts 
of  the  matter. 

The  herdsman  did  his  bidding.  The  next  morn- 
ing he  told  Mac  Carthy  that  he  had  hid  himself  be- 
hind an  old  gateway  (you  may  see  the  ruiiis  of  it 

(3T) 


28  BITS    OF    BLAKNKY. 

there  to  the  left), — that,  about  midnight,  he  had  seen 
the  waters  of  the  lake  very  much  disturbed, — that 
six  cows  came  up  out  of  the  lake,  and  set  to,  eating 
all  the  grass  off  the  field,  until,  by  daybreak,  they 
had  made  it  as  smooth  as  the  palm  of  my  hand, — 
and  that,  when  the  day  dawned,  the  cows  walked 
back  into  the  lake,  and  went  down  to  the  bottom, 
as  much  at  their  ease  as  if  they  were  on  dry 
land. 

This  was  strange  news  for  Mac  Carthy,  and  set 
him  ^uite  at  his  wits'  ends.  The  herdsman  was  a 
little  man,  with  the  heart  of  a  lion,  and  he  offered 
to  watch  again  on  that  evening,  to  seize  one  of  the 
cows,  and  either  put  it  into  the  pound,  or  go  down 
into  the  lake  with  it,  and  make  a  regular  complaint 
of  the  trespass.  Aye,  and  he  did  it,  too.  At  dusk 
he  went  again,  hid  himself,  as  before,  and  waited  to 
see  what  would  happen. 

The  six  cows  came  up  out  of  the  lake,  as  before, 
and  nibbled  off  the  grass,  until  the  field  was  quite 
smooth.  They  could  not  get  into  any  other  field, 
because  they  were  surrounded  by  high,  quickset 
hedges,  and  I  have  noticed  that  cows  are  not  verv 
fond  of  taking  flying-leaps. 

Just  at  dawn,  as  the  last  cow  was  passing  by  him, 
on  her  return  to  the  lake,  the  herdsman  made  a  dart 
at  her  tail,  and  took  a  fast  hold  of  it.  The  cow 
walked  on,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  turned  her 
head,  winked  one  of  her  large  eyes  at  him  in  a 


LEGEJSlf   OF   THE   ROCK   CLOSE.  29 

knowing  manner,  and  the  herdsman  followed,  still 
holding  the  tail. 

Down  dashed  the  beast  into  the  waters — ^but  the 
herdsman  still  kept  his  grasp.  Down  they  went — 
deep,  deep,  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  lake.  Sure 
enough,  there  was  the  giant's  castle,  that  had  been 
drowned  centuries  before.  A  little  boy  was  in  the 
court-yard,  playing  with  a  golden  ball.  All  round 
the  yard  were  piles  of  armor — spears  and  helmets, 
swords  and  shields, — all  ornamented  with  gold. 
Into  the  court-j^ard  dashed  the  cows,  and  with  them 
went  the  bold  herdsman. 

Out  came  a  lady,  richly  dressed  up  in  velvets  and 
jewels,  and  her  eyes  as  bright  as  the  sunbeams  that 
dance  on  the  wall  on  the  morning  of  Easter  Sunday.* 
She  carried  a  golden  milk-pail  in  her  hand.  Loud 
and  shrill  was  her  cry  when  she  saw  the  herdsman. 

I  should  have  told  you  that,  as  they  were  going 
down,  the  cow  whispered  to  him,  "  I  want  to  speak 
a  wor«l  with  you,  in  confidence." — "  Honor  bright," 
said  the  herdsman. — "  I  think,"  said  the  cow,  "  that 
I'd  like  to  graze  on  that  meadow  of  your  master's, 
by  day  as  Avell  as  by  night,  foi*  the  grass  is  mighty 
sweet,  and  I  don't  think  it  agrees  with  my  digestion 
to  be  driven  up  and  down  the  lake  as  I  am.     If  I 

*  There  is  a  popular  belief  in  Ireland  that  the  sunbeams  dance 
on  the  wall  on  Easter  Sunday  morning.  In  my  youth  1  Lave 
often  got  up  at  early  dawn  to  witness  the  phenomenoa 


30  BITS   OF   BLAKXEY. 

stand  jour  friend  now,  will  you  go  bail  that  the 
master  will  never  put  me  into  any  other  field  but 
•that?" — The  herdsman  answered,  "I'll  promise 
j-ou,  by  the  holy  poker,  and  that  is  as  good  as  if  I 
w  ^  to  swear  by  the  blessed  mud.'' — "  Then  my  mind 
is  at  ease,"  says  the  cow.  "  For  the  life  of  you,  don't 
lt+  go  my  tail,  whatever  you  may  hear  and  see." 

When  the  young  lady  shrieked  with  surprise  at 
seeing  a  herdsman  in  that  place,  out  rushed  a  whole 
regiment  of  soldiers,  Avith  their  cheeks  as  red  as  the 
kitchen-fire  five  minutes  before  the  dinner  is  done, 
and  the  looks  of  them  as  fierce  as  if  they  Avere  in  the 
heat  of  battle— a  little  fiercer,  may-be. — "  Oh,  that 
villain !"  says  the  lady,  pointing  to  the  herdsman. — 
"  Come  here,  and  be  killed,"  shouted  the  dragoons. 
But  the  herdsman  knew  better.  "  Send  your  mas- 
ter to  me,"  says  he,  as  bold  as  brass.  "I  always  like 
to  do  business  with  principals." 

They  wondered,  as  well  they  might,  at  the  fellow's 
impudence,  but  they  thought  it  best  to  call  out  their 
master.  He  came,  with  a  golden  crown  upon  his 
-head,  and  a  purple  velvet  cloak  on  his  shoulders, 
and  a  beautiful  pair  of  Hessian  boots  on  his  feet. — 
"  I  demand  justice,"  said  the  herdsman,  "  for  the  tres- 
pass that  your  cows  have  been  committing  on  Mac 
Carthy's  field ;  and  I  seize  this  cow  until  the  damage 
be  ascertained  and  made  good.' 

He  was  firm  as  a  rock,  and  neither  coaxing  nor 
threatening  could  make  him  yield  as  much  as  a  pin'a 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ROCK  CLOSE.        31 

point.  He  stood  upon  his  right,  and  they  could  not 
get  him  off  it.  The  cow  had  been  seized  in  the  verj 
sjct  of  trespass,  and  all  they  dared  do  was  to  tempt 
the  herdsman  to  surrender  her.  He  knew  better. 
At  last  the  master  of  them  said,  "  We  must  compro- 
mise this  little  matter.  Leave  the  cow  here,  make 
out  your  bill  for  damage,  and  if  I  don't  pay  it  to 
you  either  in  sterling  money,  or  notes  of  Delacour's 
bank  at  Mallow,  or  Joe  Pike's  in  Cork,  you  can  have 
your  remedy  at  law,  and  summon  me,  on  a  process, 
before  the  Assistant  Barrister  and  the  bench  of 
Magistrates  at  the  next  Quarter  Sessions." — But  the 
herdsman  knew  better  than  that,  and  said  he'd  pre- 
fer leaving  matters  as  they  were.  "  A  cow  in  the 
hand" — says  he.  Then  the  master  of  them  said, 
"  Take  that  golden  ball  that  the  child  has,  and  leave 
us  the  cow." — "  Hand  it  over  to  me,"  says  the  herds- 
man.— "  Come  for  it,"  said  they,  in  the  hope  that  he'd 
leave  the  cow. — "  I've  a  touch  of  the  rheumatism  in 
my  knee,"  says  he,  "  and  'tis  ill-convenient  to  move 
the  limb." — With  that,  they  handed  him  the  ball, 
and,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  it  really  was  gold,  he 
put  it  into  his  breeches  pocket,  and  said  it  was  not 
half  enough. 

Then  they  began  to  whisper  among  themselves, 
and  he  could  hear  them  proposing  to  get  out  a 
bloodhound — one  of  the  breed  that  the  Spaniards 
had  to  hunt  down  the  Indians  in  America — and  he 
thought  it  full  time  to  make  himself  scarce.     So,  he 


32  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

whispered  to  the  cow: — "My  little  cow,"  said  he^ 
"I'd  like  to  go  home."  The  cow  took  the  hint^ 
like  a  sensible  animal  as  she  was,  and  ^tole  back- 
ward through  half  the  lake  before  they  missed  her^ 
"If  we  get  safely  back  on  dry  land,"  says  she, 
"  neither  you  nor  any  one  else  must  swear  in  my 
presence,  for  the  spell  is  upon  me,  and  then  I  shall 
be  obliged  to  return  to  the  lake." 

Just  then  the  hound  was  slipped,  and  he  cut 
through  the  water  like  a  dolphin.  But  the  cow  had 
the  start  of  him,  by  a  good  bit.  Just  as  she  set  her 
foot  on  land,  the  dog  caught  hold  of  the  herdsman, 
and  his  bite  tore  away  part  of  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 
Indeed,  it  was  noticed  for  some  days  that  the  herds- 
man declined  sitting  down,  just  as  if  he  had  been 
newly  made  a  Freemason,  so  I  won't  say  that  the 
dog  did  not  bite  more  than  the  garment. 

Mac  Carthy  had. been  cooling  his  heels  on  the 
bank  of  the  lake  all  the  while  that-  the  herdsman 
was  aAvay,  and  glad  enough  he  was  to  see  him  come 
back,  in  company  with  the  little  cow.  The  herds- 
man told  him  all  that  happened,  and  handed  him 
the  golden  ball,  which,  people  say,  is  in  the  Jeffreys' 
family  to  this  day.  The  hound  runs  round  the  lake, 
from  midnight  to  sunrise,  on  every  first  of  July,  and 
is  to  run,  on  that  day,  until  his  silver  shoes  are 
worn  out, — whenever  that  happens,  Ireland  is  to  be 
a  great  nation,  but  not  until  then. 

The  field  was  not  visited  any  more  by  the  cattle 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ROCK  CLOSE.        33 

from  the  lake,  for  their  master,  below  there,  thought 
that  though  gratis  grazing  was  pleasant  enough,  it 
was  not  quite  so  pleasant  to  have  the  cows  impounded 
for  trespass.  From  that  time,  never  another  field 
in  all  Munster  gave  such  produce;  sow  it,  or  sow  it 
not,  there  was  a,lways  a  barn-full  of  grain  out  of  it. 
About  half  an  acre  of  it  was  kept  under  grass,  and 
on  that  the  cow  from  the  lake  had  constant  feeding. 

In  due  season,  the  cow  had  young  ones — the 
same  breed  that  we  now  call  Kerry  cows — those 
cattle,  small  in  size,  but  good  in  substance,  that  feed 
upon  very  little,  yield  a  great  deal  of  milk,  and 
always  fetch  the  best  of  prices. 

Mac  Carthy  was  in  a  fair  way  of  making  a  little 
fortune  out  of  that  cow  of  his,  she  gave  such  a 
power  of  milk,  but  that,  one  day  as  a  nag  of  his  was 
leaping  over  a  hedge  into  the  pasturage  where  the 
cow  was,  Mac  Carthy  burst  out  with  a  rattling 
oath.  The  moment  the  words  left  his  lips,  the  cow 
cocked  her  ears,  winked  her  eye  knowingly  at  him, 
gave  her  tail  a  toss  in  the  air,  and  made  one  spring 
down  into  the  lake.  The  waters  closed  over  her, 
and  that  was  the  last  that  mortal  eye  ever  saw  of  her. 

From  that  time  forth  the  field  was  again  visited 
by  the  cattle  from  the  lake,  and  that's  the  reason 
why  it  is  as  smooth  as  you  see  it  now.  It  is  sup- 
posed that  so  it  will  continue  until  somebody  has 
the  bold  heart  to  go  down  again  and  make  another 
seizure  for  trespass. 
2* 


34  BITS   OF    BLAllNEY. 

Mr,  Jeffreys,  hearing  a  great  deal  of  the  treasures 
which  are  said  to  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  lake,  laid 
out  a  power  of  money  in  trying  to  drain  it.  But  it 
filled  faster  than  the  men  could  empty  it.  They 
might  as  well  think  of  emptying  the  Atlantic^  with  a 
slop-basin. 


Having  thanked  Mr.  Tim  Cronin,  Philomath,  for 
his  legends,  I  took  the  liberty  of  asking  if  he  be- 
lieved them  ?  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  that  same  question 
is  a  poser.  K I  am  pressed  on  the  point,  I  must  ad- 
mit that  I  do  not  believe  them  entirely  ;  but,  when  I 
meet  curious  gentlemen,  I  am  proud  to  tell  them 
these  stories — ^particularly  when  they  invite  me  to 
spend  the  afternoon  with  them  at  the  little  inn  at  the 
foot  of  the  hni  beyond  there." 

The  hint  was  taken — as  far  as  enabling  him,  as  he 
said,  to  partake  of  his  own  hospitality,  for  my  own 
time  was  limited,  as  I  had  to  return  to  dine  in  Cork. 
Thus,  I  was  uuable  to  judge  whether  Mr.  Cronin 
was  as  conversable  after  feeding-time  as  before  it. 
He  died  some  two  years  ago,  I  have  been  told,  and 
it  will  be  difficult  to  meet  with  a  Cicerone  so  well 
qualified  to  describe  and  illustrate  Blarney  Castle 
and  its  dependencies. 


CON  O'KEEFE  AND  THE  GOLDEN  CUP. 

In  Ireland,  as  in  Scotland,  among  the  lower  c  t- 
ders,  there  is  a  prevalent  belief  in  the  existence  and 
supernataral  powers  of  the  gentry  commonly  called 
■*' fairies,"  Many  and  strange  are  the  stories  told  of 
this  mysterious  and  much  dreaded  race  of  beings. 
Loud  and  frequent  have  been  the  exclamations  of 
surprise,  and  even  of  anger,  at  the  hard  incredulity 
which  made  me  refuse,  when  I  was  young,  to  credit 
•all  that  was  narrated  of  the  wonderful  feats  of  Irish 
fairies — the  most  frolicksome  of  the  entire  genus. 
The  more  my  disbelief  was  manifested,  the  more 
wonderful  were  the  legends  which  were  launched 
a,t  me,  to  overthrow  my  unlucky  and  matter-of-fact 
•obstinacy. 

I  have  forgotten  many  of  the  traditions  which 
were  thus  made  familiar  to  me  in  my  boyhood,  but 
my  memory  retains  sufficient  to  convince  me  to  what 
improbabilities  Superstition  clung — and  the  more 
Avonderful  the  story,  the  more  implicit  the  belief. 
But  in  such  cases  the  fanaticism  was  harmless, — it 
"was  of  the  head  rather  than  of  the  heart — of  the 
imagination  rather  than  the  reason.  It  would  be 
fortunate  if  all  superstitions  did  as  little  mischief  aa 
■ihis. 

(S5) 


36  BITS   OF   BLAKNiiy. 

It  is  deeply  to  be  lamented  that  the  matter-of 
factedness  of  the  Americans  is  not  subdued  or  modi- 
fied by  any — even  the  slightest — belief  in  the  old- 
worlO  superstitions  of  which  I  speak.  Of  fairy -lore 
they  cannot,  and  they  do  not,  possess  the  slightest 
item.  They  read  of  it,  as  if  it  Avere  legendary,  but 
nothing  more.  They  feel  it  not — they  know  it — 
they  are,  therefore,  dreadfully  actual.  So  much  the 
worse  for  them ! 

Ha^ang  imbibed  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  wild 
and  wonderful  traditions  which  had  been  duly  ac- 
credited in  the  neighborhood,  time  out  of  mind,  I 
never  was  particularly  chary  in  expressing  such 
contempt  at  every  opportunity.  When  the  mind 
of  a  boy  soars  above  the  ignorance  which  besets  his 
elders  in  an  inferior  station,  who  have  had  neither 
the  chance  nor  the  desire  of  being  enlightened,  he 
is  apt  to  pride  himself,  as  I  did,  on  the  "march  of 
intellect"  which  has  placed  him  superior  to  their 
vulgar  credulity. 

Many  years  have  passed  since  I  happened  to  be 
a  temporary  visitor  beneath  the  hospitable  roof  of 
one  of  the  better  sort  of  farmers,  in  the  county  of" 
Cork,  during  the  Midsummer  holidays.  As  usual, 
I  there  indulged  in  sarcasm  against  the  credulity  of 
the  country.  One  evening,  in  particular,  I  was  not 
a  Httle  tenacious  in  laughing  at  the  very  existence 
of  "the  fairy  folk;"  and,  as  sometimes  happens,  ridi- 
cule accomplished  more  than  argument  could  have 


cox    O'KEEFE    and    JIIK    GOLDEN    CUP.  37 

effected.  My  hosts  could  bear  anything  in  the  way 
of  arorument — at  least  of  arorument  such  as  mine — 
they  could  even  suffer  their  favorite  legends  and 
theories  about  the  fairies  to  be  abused ;  but  to  laugh 
-at  them — that  was  an  act  of  unkindness  which  quite 
passed  their  comprehension,  and  grievously  taxed 
their  patience. 

My  host  was  quite  in  despair,  and  almost  in  anger 
•at  my  boyish  jokes  upon  his  fairy -legends,  when  the 
village  schoolmaster  came  in,  an  uninvited  but  mobt 
welcome  guest.  A  chair  was  soon  provided  for  him 
in  the  warmest  corner — whiskey  was  immediately 
•on  the  table,  and  the  schoolmaster,  who  was  a  pretty 
constant  votary  to  Bacchus,  lost  no  time  in  making 
himself  acquainted  with  its  flavor. 

I  had  often  seen  him  before.  He  combined  in  his 
•character  a  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  simplicity; 
was  a  most  excellent  mathematician  and  a  good 
•classical  scholar — but  of  the  world  he  knew  next  to 
nothing.  From  youth  to  age  had  been  spent  within 
the  limits  of  the  parish  over  which,  cane  in  hand,  he 
had  presided  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century, — 
at  once  a  teacher  and  an  oracle !  He  was  deeply 
imbued  with  a  belief  in  the  superstitions  of  the  dis- 
trict, but  was  more  especially  familiar  with  the  wild 
legends  of  that  rocky  glen  (the  defile  near  Kil worth, 
commonly  called  Araglin,  once  famous  for  the  extent 
•of  illicit  distillation  carried  on  there),  in  which  he 
had  passed  away  his  life,  usefully,  but  humbly  em- 
ployed. 


38  BITS  OF  BLAKNEY. 

To  this  eccentric  character  my  host  triumphantly 
appealed  for  proof  respecting  the  existence  and  vaga- 
ries of  the  fairies.  He  wasted  no  time  in  argument^ 
but,  glancing  triumphantly  around,  declared  that  he- 
would  convert  me  by  a  particularly  well-attested 
story.  Draining  his  tumbler,  and  incontinently 
mixing  another,  Mr.  Patrick  McCann  plunged  at 
once  into  the  heart  of  his  narration,  as  follows  : 

"  You  know  the  high  hill  that  overlooks  the  town 
of  Fermoy  ?  Handsome  and  thriving  place  as  it. 
now  is,  I  remember  the  time  when  there  were  only 
two  houses  in  that  same  town,  and  one  of  them  was 
then  only  in  course  of  building !  Well,  there  lived 
on  the  other  side  of  Corran  Thierna  (the  mountain 
in  question,  though  Corrig  is  the  true  name)  one  of 
the  Barrys,  a  gentleman  who  was  both  rich  and 
good.  I  wish  we  had  moi-e  of  the  stamp  among 
us  now — 'tis  little  of  the  Whiteboys  or  Ribbonmen 
would  trouble  the  country  then.  He  had  a  fine  for- 
tune, kept  up  a  fine  house,  and  lived  at  a  dashing, 
rate.  It  does  not  matter,  here  nor  there,  how  many 
sei'vants  he  had ;  but  I  mention  them,  because  one- 
of  them  was  a  very  remarkable  fellow.  His  equal 
was  not  to  be  had,  far  or  near,  for  love  nor  money. 

"  This  servant  was  called  Con  O'Keefe.  He  was 
a  crabbed  little  man,  with  a  face  the  very  color  and 
texture  of  old  parchment,  and  he  had  lived  in  the 
family  time  out  of  mind.  He  was  such  a  small^ 
dwarfish,  deeny  creature,  that  no  one  ever  thought 


CON   O'KEEFE   AND   THE   GOLDEN   CUP.  3^ 

of  putting  him  to  liard  work.  All  that  they  did 
was,  now  and  again,  from  the  want  of  a  better  mes- 
senger at  the  moment,  or  to  humor  the  old  man,  to 
send  him  to  Rathcormac  post-office  for  letters.  But 
he  was  too  weak  and  feeble  to  walk  so  far — though 
it  was  only  a  matter  of  three  or  four  miles ;  so  they 
got  him  a  little  ass,  and  he  rode  upon  it,  quite  as 
proud  as  a  general  at  the  head  of  an  army  of  con- 
querors. 'Twas  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  Ccri 
mounted  upon  his  donkey  —  you  could  scarcely 
make  out  which  had  the  most  stupid  look.  Bui 
neither  man  nor  beast  can  help  his  looks. 

"  At  that  time  Rathcormac,  though  'tis  but  a  vil- 
lage now,  was  a  borough,  and  sent  two  members  to 
the  Irish  Parliament.  Was  not  the  great  Curran, 
the  orator  and  patriot,  msmber  for  Rathcormac, 
when  he  was  a  young  man  ?  Did  not  Colonel  Ton- 
son  get  made  an  Irish  peer,  out  of  this  very  borough, 
which  his  son  William  is,  to  this  very  day,  by  the 
title  of  Baron  Riversdale  of  Rathcormac  ?  Does  not 
his  shield  bear  an  open  hand  between  two  castles, 
and  is  not  the  motto,  '  Manus  haec  inimica  ty  rannis' — • 
which  means  that  it  was  the  enemy  of  tyrants?  Did 
not  the  Ulster  King  of  Arms  make  the  Tonsons  a 
grant  of  these  arms,  in  the  time  of  Cromwell  ?  But 
here  I  have  left  poor  little  Con  mounted  on  his  don- 
key all  this  time. 

"  Con  O'Keefe  was  not  worth  his  keep,  for  any  good 
he  did  ;  but,  truth  to  say,  he  had  the  name  of  being 


40  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

hand  and  glove  with  the  fairies;  and,  at  that  time, 
Corran  Thierna  swarmed  with  them.  They  changed 
their  quarters  when  the  regiments  from  Fermoy 
barracks  took  to  firing  against  targets  stuck  up  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Not  that  a  ball  could 
evei-  hit  a  fairy  (except  a  silver  one  cast  by  a  girl  in 
her  t€ens,  who  has  never  wished  for  a  lover,  or  a 
widow  under  forty  who  has  not  sighed  for  a  second 
husband — so  there's  little  chance  that  it  ever  will 
be  cast),  but  they  hate  the  noise  of  the  firing  and 
the  smell  of  gunpowder,  quite  as  much  as  the  Devil 
bat«8  holy  water. 

''  'Tis  reckoned  lucky  in  these  parts  to  have  a 
friend  of  the  fairies  in  the  house  with  you,  and  that 
was  partly  the  reason  why  Con  O'Keefe  was  kept  at 
Barry's-fort.  Many  and  many  a  one  could  swear  to 
hearing  him  and  '  the  good  folk '  talk  together  at 
twilight  on  his  return  from  Rathcormac  with  the 
letter-bag.  My  own  notion  is,  that  if  he  had  any- 
thing to  say  to  them,  he  had  more  sense  than  to  hold 
conversation  with  them  on  the  high  road,  for  that 
might  have  led  to  a  general  discovery.  Con  was 
r<~>nd  of  a  drop,  and,  when  he  took  it  (which  was  in 
sn  algebraic  way,  that  is,  'any  given  quantity'),  he 
had  such  famous  spirits,  and  his  tongue  went  so 
glibly,  that,  in  the  absence  of  other  company,  he 
was  sometimes  forced  to  talk  to  himself,  as  he  trotted 
home. 

"  One  night,  as  he  was  going  along,  rather  the 


CON   o'kEEFE   and   TilK    GOLDEN   CL'P.  41 

worse  for  liquor,  he  thought  he  heard  a  confused 
€Ouud  of  voices  in  the  air,  directly  over  his  head. 
He  stopped,  and,  sure  enough,  it  was  the  fairies, 
v^ho  were  chattering  away,  like  a  bevy  of  magpies . 
but  he  did  not  know  this  at  the  time. 

"  At  first  he  thought  it  might  be  some  of  the 
neighbors  wanting  to  play  him  a  trick.  So,  to 
show  that  he  was  not  afraid  (for  the  drink  had 
made  him  bold  as  a  lion),  when  the  voices  above 
and  around  him  kept  calling  out  '  High  up !  high 
up!'  he  put  in  his  spoke,  and  shouted,  as  loud  iJ* 
any  of  them,  'High up!  high  up  with  ye,  my  lads' 
No  sooner  said  than  done.  He  was  whisked  off  hi"* 
donkey  in  a  twinkling,  and  was  'high  up'  in  the  ai?  ■ 
in  the  very  middle  of  a  crowd  of  '  good  people' — ^fo) 
it  happened  to  be  one  of  their  festival  nights,  and 
the  cry  that  poor  little  Con  heard  was  the  summoDR 
for  gathering  them  all  together.  There  they  were, 
mighty  small,  moving  about  as  quickly  as  motes  in 
the  sunshine.  Although  Con  had  the  reputation  at 
Barry's-fort  of  being  well  acquainted  with  thcTi  all, 
you  may  well  believe  that  there  was  not  a  single  Jkce 
among  the  lot  that  he  knew. 

"  In  less  than  no  time,  off  they  went,  when  their 
•leader — ^a  little  morsel  of  a  fellow,  not  bigger  than 
Hop-o'-my  Thumb — ^bawled  out,  '  High  for  France ! 
high  for  France  !  high  .  over !'  Off  they  went, 
through  the  air — quick  as  if  they  were  on  a  steeple- 
•chase.     Moss  and  moor — mountain  and  valley — 


42  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

green  field  and  brown  bog — land  and  water  w^ere 
all  left  behind,  and  they  never  once  halted  untii 
they  reached  the  coast  of  France. 

"  They  immediately  made  for  the  house  (there  it 
is  called  the  chdieau)  of  a  great  lord — one  of  the 
Seigneurs  of  the  Court — and  bolted  through  the 
key-hole  into  his  wine-cellar,  without  leave  or  license, 
tlow  little  Con  was  squeezed  through,  I  never  could 
understand,  but  it  is  as  sure  as  fate  that  he  went  into 
the  cellar  along  with  them*  They  soon  got  astride 
the  casks,  and  commenced  drinking  the  best  wines,, 
without  waiting  to  be  invited.  Con,  you  may  be 
sure,  was  not  behind  any  of  them,  as  far  as  the 
drinking  went.  The  more  he  drank,  the  better 
relish  he  had  for  their  tipple.  The  'good  people,*" 
somehow  or  other,  did  not  appear  at  all  surprised  at 
Con's  bein^;  among  them,  but  they  did  wonder  at 
his  great  thirst,  and  pressed  him  to  take  enough — 
and  Con  was  not  the  man  who'd  wait  to  be  asked 
twice.  So  they  drank  on  till  night  slipped  away, 
when  the  sun — like  a  proper  gentleman  as  he  is — 
sent  in  one  of  his  earliest  beams,  as  a  sort  of  gentle 
hint  that  it  w^as  full  time  for  them  to  return.  They 
had  a  parting-glass,  and,  in  half  an  hour  or  so, 
had  crossed  the  wide  sea,  and  dropped  little  Con 
('pretty  well,  I  thank  you,'  by  this  time)  on  the 
piecise  spot  he  had  left  on  the  evening  before.  He 
had  been  drinking  out  of  a  beautiful  golden  cup  in 
the  cellar,  and,  by  some  mistake  or  other,  it  had 


cox  o'keefe  and  the  goldex  cup.       43 

Hlipped  up  the  sleeve  of  the  large  loose  coat  he  wore^ 
and  so  he  brought  it  home  with  him.  Not  that  Ccn 
^vas  not  honest  enough,  but  surely  a  man  may  be 
excused  for  taking  'a  cup  too  much'  in  a  wine- 
cellar. 

"Con  was  soon  awakened  by  the  warm  sunbeams 
playing  upon  his  face.  At  first,  he. thought  he  had 
been  dreaming,  and  he  might  have  thought  so  to  his 
dying  day,  but  that,  when  he  got  on  his  feet,  the 
golden  cup  rolled  on  the  road  before  him,  and  was 
proof  positive  that  all  was  a  i-eality. 

"  He  said  his  prayers  directly,  between  him  anc 
harm.  Then  he  put  up  the  cup  and  walked  home^ 
where,  as  his  little  donkey  had  returned  on  the  pre- 
vious night  without  him,  the  family  had  given  him 
up  as  lost  or  drowned.  Indeed,  some  of  them  had 
sagaciously  suggested  the  probability  of  his  having 
gone  off  for  good  with  the  fairies. 

"  Now,  does  not  my  story  convince  you  that  there- 
must  hi  such  things  as  fairies?  It  is  not  more  than 
twenty  years  since  I  heard  Con  O'Keefe  tell  the 
wdiolc  stor\'  from  beginning  to  end;  and  he'd  say  or 
swear  with  any  man  that  the  whole  of  it  w^as  as  true 
as  gospel.  And,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Patrick 
McCann,  I  do  believe  that  Con  was  in  strange  com- 
pany that  night." 

I  ventured  to  say  to  Mr.  McCann  that,  being  yet 
incredulous,  I  must  have  better  evidence  than  little 
Oon's  own  declaration. 


44  BITS   OF   BLAKNEi'. 

•'  To  be  sure  you  shall,"  said  lie.  "  Was  not  the 
goideu  cup  taken  up  to  Barrj's-fort,  and  to  be  seen — 
■as  seen  it  was — ^bj  the  whole  country  ?" 

I  answered  that,  "  Certainly,  if  the  cup  is  to  be 
seen  there,  the  case  is  materially  altered." 

"I  did  not  say  that  the  cup  is  at  Barry 's-fort," 
said  McCann,  "only  that*it  vsas.  The  end  of  ftie 
story,  indeed,  is  nearly  as  strange  as  the  beginning. — 
When  Con  O'Keefe  came  back  from  his  wonderful 
•excursion,  no  one  believed  a  word  of  what  he  said ; 
for  though  it  was  whispered  that  he  was  great  with 
the  fairies,  yet,  when  the  matter  came  tangibly  be- 
fore them,  they  did  not  credit  it.  But  Con  soon 
settled  their  doubts;  he  brought  forward  the  cup, 
and  there  was  no  gainsaying  that  evidence. 

"  Mr.  Barry  took  the  cup  into  his  own  keeping,  and, 
the  name  and  residence  of  the  French  lord  being 
engraved  upon  it,  determined  (as  in  honor  bound)  to 
send  it  home  again.  So  he  went  off  to  Cove,  without 
any  delay,  taking  Con  with  him ;  and,  as  there  luck- 
ily was  a  vessel  going  off  to  France  that  very  day, 
he  sent  off  little  Con  with  the  cup  and  his  very  best 
compliments. 

Now,  the  cup  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  French 
lord  (being  a  piece  of  family  plate,  given  to  one  of 
his  ancestors  by  one  of  the  old  kings  of  France, 
whose  life  he  had  saved  in  battle),  and  nothing 
could  equal  the  hubbub  and  confusion  that  arose 
ivhen  it  was  missing.     His  lordship  called  for  some 


CON  o'keefe  a'sd  tue  golden  cup.     4.J 

wine  at  dinnei ,  aud  great  was  his  anger  when  the 
lackey  handed  it  lo  liim  in  a  glass,  declaring  that 
thej  could  noi.  find  the  goldea  got^let.  He  threw 
glass,  and  wine;,  and  all,  at  the  servant's  head — flew 
into  a  terrible  passion — and  swore,  by  all  that  wa? 
good  and  bad,  that  he  would  not  take  anything 
stronger  than  water  until  the  cup  was  on  the  table 
again ;  and  that,  if  it  was  not  forthcoiaing  in  a  week, 
he'd  turn  off  every  servant  he  had,  without  paying 
them  their  wages,  or  giving  them  a  character. 

*'  The  cup  was  well  searched  for,  but  all  to  no  pur- 
pose, as  you  may  suppose.  At  List,  the  week  came 
to  an  end — all  the  servants  had  their  clothes  packed 
up,  to  be  off  in  the  morning.  His  lordship  was 
getting  dreadfully  tired  of  drinking  cold  water,  and 
the  whole  house  was,  as  one  may  say,  turned  topsy- 
turvy, when,  to  the  delight  and  admiration  of  all,  in 
came  Con  O'Keefe,  from  Ireland,  with  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Barry  and  the  cup  in  his  fist. 

"  I  rather  thick  they  welcomed  him.  His  lordshij) 
made  it  a  point  to  get  'glorious'  that  night,  and, 
as  in  duty  bound,  the  entire  household  followed  his 
example,  with  all  the  j)leasure  in  life.  You  may  be 
certain  that  Con  played  away  finely  at  the  wine— 
you  know  the  fairies  had  made  him  free  of  the  cellar — 
so  he  knew  the  taste  of  the  liquor,  and  relished  it  toO: 
There  caa  be  no  doubt  that  there  was  a  regular  jol- 
lification in  the  chateau  that  night. 

"  Con  remained  in  France  for  a  raortli,  ax-d  waff 


46  BITS    OF    BLAl^NEY. 

perfectl;y  in  clover,  for,  from  the  lord  to  the  lackej, 
every  one  liked  him.  When  he  returned,  he  had  a 
heavy  purse  of  gold  for  himself,  and  many  fine  pres- 
onts  for  his  m.aster.  Indeed,  while  the  French  lord 
lived,  which  was  for  fifteen  good  years  longer,  a 
couple  of  hogsheads  of  excellent  claret  were  annually 
received  at  Barry's-fort,  as  a  present  from  him,  and 
there  was  no  wine  in  the  country  to  equal  it.  As 
lor  Con  O'Keeft:,  he  never  had  the  luck  to  meet  the 
fairies  again,  a  misfortune  he  very  sincerely  la- 
mented.    And  that's  the  whole  story." 

1  asked  Mr.  McCann,  whether  he  really  believed 
all  of  it  ?     That  worthy  replied  in  these  words : — 

"  Why,  in  truth,  I  must  say,  some  parts  of  it  re- 
quire rather  an  elastic  mind  to  take  in  ;  but  there's 
no  doubt  that  Con  was  sent  over  to  France,  where, 
it  is  said,  there  was  a  great  to-do  about  a  golden 
•cup.  I  am  positive  that  Mr.  Barry  used  to  receive  a 
present  of  claret,  every  year,  from  a  French  lord, 
for  I've  drank  some  of  the  best  claret  in  Ireland 
from  Mr.  Barry's  cellar.  If  the  talc  he  true — and  I 
have  told  it  as  I  have  heard  Con  O'Keefe  tell  it,  es- 
^pccially  when  overconi'^  by  liquor,  at  which  time, 
the  truth  is  sure  to  come  out — it  is  proof  positive, 
that  there  hoive  been  fairies  in  this  neighborhood, 
and  that  within  the  memory  of  man  !" 

Such  a  logical  conclusion  was  incontrovertible, 
•especially  when  enforced  by  a  facetious  wink  iroai 
the  schoolmaster;  so,  I  even  left  matters  as  lih^'^ 


A   BIT   OF   A   PROMISE.  47 

"were,  and  listened  with  all  proper  attention  to  other 
-stories  in  the  same  vein,  and  to  the  same  effect.  K 
the  narrator  did  not  credit  them,  most  of  his  audi- 
tors did,  which  amounts  to  much  the  same  iii  the 
end.  Some  other  time,  perhaps,  I  may  be  tempted 
to  relate  them. 


LEGENDS   OF  FINN  MAC  COUL. 

There  is  a  similarity,  all  over  tlie  world,  be- 
tween the  popular  legends  and  traditions  of  different 
nations.  They  are  reproduced,  with  slight  difler- 
ences  of  circumstance  and  costume,  to  suit  each 
new  locality.  For  example,  the  Maiden  Tower  at 
Constantinople,  actually  built  by  the  Emperor 
Manuel,  centuries  ago,  for  the  purpose  of  a  double 
communication — with  Scutari,  on  the  Asian  side^ 
an'',  with  the  point  of  coast  occupied  by  the  Serai 
Bournou  on  the  Asian.  Whenever  the  hostile  visit 
of  a  Venetian  fleet  was  anticipated,  a  strong  iron 
chain  used  to  be  drawn  on  both  sides,  across  the 
entire  breadth  of  the  strait.  Respecting  this  are 
several  legends,  all  of  which  have  their  prototypes 
in  the  West. 

The  generally  received  account  has  appropriated 
it  as  the  place  in  which,  for  safety,  a  damsel  was 
held  in  close  retirement  until  the  fatal  time  named 
in  a  prediction  should  have  passed  away ;  but  a 
serpent,  accidentally  brought  up  in  a  basket  of 
fruit,  caused  the  maiden's  death.  Here  is  a  striking 
illustration  of  the  similarity  between  the  legends- 
of  the  East  and  those  of  the  West.     In  the  Third 

(48) 


LEGENDARY    LORE.  49 

Calendar's  Story,  in  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertain- 
ments (which  have  charmed  all  of  us  in  youth,  and 
rarely  fail  to  delight  us  when  we  return  to  them  in 
.'Jiaturer  years),  the  whole  interest  turns  on  an  inci- 
.'>ent  of  the  same  character.  Both  stories  appear 
deeply  imbued  with  that  fatality  which  forms  the 
distinguishing  feature  in  Eastern  belief  and  practice. 
Near  Bristol,  also,  are  the  remains  of  a  tower,  called 
Cook's  Folly,  erected  to  be  the  dwelling-place  of  a 
youth  of  whom  it  had  been  predicted  that  (like  the 
heroine  of  the  Turkish  legend)  his  life  would  be  in 
peril  from  a  serpent  until  the  completion  of  his 
eighteenth  year.  The  dangerous  time  had  nearly 
expired,  when  the  youth  died  from  the  venomous 
bite  of  an  adder,  which  had  been  accidentally  con- 
veyed to  his  isolated  abode  in  a  bundle  of  fagots. 

In  the  south  of  Ireland,  on  the  summit  of  a  moun- 
tain called  Corrig  Thierna  (the  Chieftain's  Rock),  is 
a  heap  of  stones  which,  if  there  be  truth  in  tradition, 
was  brought  there  to  build  a  castle  in  which  was  to 
dwell  a  son  of  Roche,  Prince  of  Fermoy,  of  whom 
it  had  been  predicted  that  he  would  be  drowned  be- 
fore his  twentieth  year.  The  child,  when  only  five 
years  old,  fell  into  a  pool  of  water  which  had  been 
collected,  on  the  top  of  the  mountain,  to  make 
mortar  for  the  erection  of  the  tower,  in  which  it 
was  intended  he  should  be  kept  "out  of  harm's 
way,"  until  the  perilous  period  had  elapsed.  The 
child  was  drowned.  In  each  case,  the  prophecy 
3 


50  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

appears  to  have  brought  about  its  own  falfihnent. 
There  is  a  monil  in  these  old  traditions,  did  we  bo*- 
know  how  to  seize  and  apply  it, 

Washington  Irving  has  localized  several  le 
gends  as  American,  but  his  Rip  Van  Winkle  noj 
been  traced  to  a  German  origin,  and  many  of  nis 
other  legends  appear  to  be  old  friends  in  a  new 
attire.  Who  can  say  whence  any  traditional  stories 
are  derived?  Some  years  ago,  a  supplement  to  the 
Thousand-and-One  Nights,  containing  an  Arabian 
tale  called  the  Sage  Heycar,  was  published  at  Paris, 
and  the  translator  noted  the  curious  fact  that  this 
Oriental  story  contained  many  incidents  exactly 
similar  to  passages  in  the  life  of  -ZEsop :  such  as 
sixteen  pages  of  details  of  a  visit  made  by  Heycar 
to  the  court  of  Pharaoh,  which  are  the  same,  word 
for  word,  with  the  account  of  the  like  visit  made  by 
JEsop.  So,  too,  the  challenge  which  Pharaoh  sent 
to  the  King  of  Abyssinia,  demanding  him  to  build 
a  palace  in  the  air,  and  the  ingenious  means  to  which 
-^sop  had  recourse,  are  transferred  to  Heycar.  Even 
the  fables  of  -^sop,  the  Phrygian,  have  been  claimed 
for  Lokman,  the  Arabian  philosopher,  and  now  the 
very  incidents  of  his  life  are  taken  from  him  by 
Heycar. 

The  Coventry  legend  of  Lady  Godiva  is  claimed 
by  the  Arabians.  In  Yon  Hammer's  new  Arabian 
Nights  is  the  story  called  Camaralzeman  and  the 
Jeweller's  Wife,  founded  on  an  incident  precisely 


LEGENDARY   LORE.  51 

■similar  to  that  in  wliicli  tlie  English  heroine  ap- 
pears. 

The  truth  is,  it  is  impossible  to  ascertain  what  co- 
incident mythology  connects  the  East  and  the  West. 
We  know  not  what  relation  Thor  of  Scandinavia 
may  have  with  Yishnu  of  Hindostan.  The  oldest 
English  and  Irish  stories  appear  to  have  correspond- 
ing legends  among  the  Celts,  Danes,  Scandinavians, 
■und  Normans,  and,  again,  these  have  wandered 
-either  to  or  from  the  East.  Even  such  thoroughly 
English  stories  as  Tom  Thumb,  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer,  and  Whittington  and  his  Cat,  are  claimed  as 
aboriginal  in  foreign  countries.  The  Wise  Men  of 
Ootham,  one  of  the  oldest  English  provincial  legends, 
is  given,  nearly  verbatim,  in  one  of  the  German  pop- 
ular stories,  collected  by  the  Brothers  Grimm,  and 
its  incidents  may  be  found  in  the  Pentamerone  (in 
the  story  of  Bardiello),  but  has  been  translated  from 
the  Tamul  tongue,  which  is  a  dialect  of  Southern 
India,  as  the  "  Adventures  of  Gooroo  Noodle  and 
his  Five  Disciples," 

The  Germans  are  very  fond  of  legendary  lore. 
Xike  the  Irish,  they  have  their  cellar-haunters,  who 
invariably  tap  the  best  wine,  and  make  themselves 
merry  with  whatever  the  cellar  and  larder  can  sup- 
ply. Like  the  Irish,  too,  they  have  traditions  of  gi- 
gantic dwellers  in  the  land,  in  days  gone  by,  and 
they  re  people  the  Hartz  with  men  of  enormous 
stature  and  strength,  capable  of  daring  and  doing 


62  BITS   OF   BLAENEY. 

any  thing,  yet  who  differ  from  the  Genii,  in  the  Ara- 
bian Tales,  who  are  spoken  of  as  possessing  super- 
natural powers,  while  the  giants  of  Western  tradition^ 
having  nothing  remarkable,  except  their  size  and 
strength,  and  so  far  from  being  endowed  with  more 
than  human  powers,  may  be  noticed,  on  the  con- 
trary, as  being  slow-witted  and  rather  dull  of  com- 
prehension,— for,  like  most  very  tall  people  of  the 
present  day,  their  upper  story  is  unfurnished.  Such 
were  Finn  Mac  Coul,  and  his  great  rival,  Ossian, 
neither  of  whom  can  be  named  as  remarkably  bright 
"boys."  There  are  a  few  instances  of  this  which 
may  be  worth  recording.     For  example : — 


•  FINN  AND 'THE  FISH. 

In  the  good  old  times,  "  when  Malachi  wors  the 
collar  of  gold,  which  he  won  from  the  proud  Invs.- 
der,"  no  Irish  hero  was  more  celebrated  than  Finn 
Mac  Coul.  What  cabin  is  there,  from  the  Gian  's 
Causeway  to  Cape  Clear,  which  is  not  fall  of  ills 
.glorj  ? 

Finn  Mac  Coul  was  famous  for  his  strength  07" 
mind  and  body,  for  his  wisdom  and  his  might. 
The  Saxons  fled  before  him  when  he  unfurled  Ire- 
land's ancient  banner — which  bore  the  poetical  name 
of  The  Sunburst — and  thousands  arrayed  them- 
selves around  it ;  mountain  and  vale,  plain  and  tarn, 
hall  and  bower,  were  full  of  the  glory  of  his  grace- 
ful deeds  of  gentle  courtesy.  His  mighty  mind  was 
suitably  lodged,  for  he  was  tall  as  one  of  the  sons  of 
Anak,  and  might  have  passed  for  own  brother  to 
him  of  Gath. 

Before  relating  any  of  his  wonderful  bodily 
achievements,  it  may  be  as  well  to  mention  the 
mysterious  manner  in  which  hLs  wisdom,  like  a 
tangible  revelation,  fell  upon  him. 

In  the  ancient  days  of  Ireland's  glory,  the  prov- 
ince of  Munster  was  a  Kingdom,  and  was  called 
Momonia.     One   of  the   Mac   Carthy  family  had 

(5^0 


54  BITS   OF  BLAKNEY. 

sovereign  sway.  He  was  a  good-natured,  sojpfc- 
hearted,  fat-headed  sort  of  neutral  character — one  of 
that  class,  still  too  common  in  Ireland,  known  by. 
the  apologetic  sobriquet  of  "  nobody's  enemy  but  his 
own."  He  kept  open  house  for  all  comers,  and  the 
effect  of  his  undiscriminating  hospitality  was,  that,  a 
monarch  in  name,  he  was  next  to  a  pauper  in 
reality,  living,  as  the  saying  is,  quite  "from hand to^ 
mouth."  This  he  could  have  borne,  for,  like  the 
eels,  he  was  used  to  it,  but  the  empty  state  of  his- 
exchequer  rendered  him  unable  to  pay  for  the  mill- 
lary  services  of  his  subjects,  and  the  result  was,  that 
his  dominions  gradually  fell  into  a  state  of  partition 
among  his  brother  monarchs  of  greater  power,  richer 
treasury,  and  smaller  hospitality. 

It  happened  that  one  of  these,  named  Mac  Murragh 
— an  ancestor  of  him  whose  daughter's  frailty  led  to 
the  subjugation  of  Ireland  by  Henry  II. — ruled  over 
Leinster,  while  poor  Mac  Carthy  was  enjoying  nomi- 
nal empire  over  the  rich  plains  of  Munster.  Mac 
Murragh  was  ambitious.  He  saw  what  an  easy 
prey  Momonia  might  be.  He  wished  to  feed  his 
herds  upon  that  beautiful  tract  of  land  intersected 
by  the  river  Suir,  which  even  yet  is  called  "  The- 
Golden  Yale,"  and  he  declared  war  to  the  knife 
against  King  Mac  Carthy. 

It  happened  that  Mac  Carthy  was  fully  aware  of 
the  value  of  the  golden  vale — indeed,  it  was  the  very 
pride  of  his  heart.     He  determined  to  resist  his  foe,. 


FINX   AND   THE    FISH.  OO 

as  best  he  could.  But  before  taking  up  arms,  on 
tiie  defensive,  lie  resolved  to  have  recourse  to  other 
than  mortal  aid. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  avatar  of  Saint  Pa- 
trick— that  redoubted  patriarch  whose  mission  it 
was  to  teach  the  benighted  Irish  the  benefits  of  re- 
ligion and  the  blessings  of  whiskey.  Therefore, 
under  King  ^lac  Carthy,  Druidism  was  the  "  estab- 
lished church."  One  of  the  most  ancient  Arch- 
Druids  in  Munster  resided  in  a  cave  near  Mitchels- 
town,  dug  by  his  own  hands  in  one  of  the  Galtee 
Mountains,  and  to  him,  in  this  emergency,  King 
Mac  Carthy  betook  himself  for  advice  and  aid. 

The  Arch-Druid  was  not^d,  far  and  near,  as  an 
interpreter  of  dreams,  a  diviner  of  auguries,  an  un- 
raveller  of  mysteries,  and  a  reader  of  prophecies. 
Common  rumor  declared  tliat  he  was  master  of  en- 
chantments,— that  the.  thunder  rolled  and  the  light- 
ning flashed  at  his  command, — that  he  had  com- 
munion with  spirits  from  another  world,  and  could 
compel  them  to  obey  his  bidding. 

After  the  performance  of  many  rites  and  ceremo- 
nies, some  penance  and  much  prayer,  the  Arch- 
Druid  asked  the  King  of  Munster  Avhether  he  knew 
thftt  part  of  the  West  which  we  now  call  Mayo? 
Mac  Carthy  replied  that  he  ought  to  know  it,  for 
tie  had  been  brought  up  there.  "  Then,"  said  the 
Arch-Druid,  "thither  we  must  go.  For  in  one  ot 
the  rivers  which  run  through  that  district,  by  the 


56  BITS   OF   BLAENEY. 

foot  of  a  lofty  mountain,  there  is  a  salmon,  wMck. 
if  cauglit,  cooked,  and  saten,  will  bestow  long  Lie. 
and  health,  wisdom  and  valor,  success  in  arms  and 
love,  upon  him  who  eats  it." 

The  King  thanked  the  Arch-Druid  for  his  informa- 
tion, and  gave  him  a  liberal  largess,  when  he  added 
that  in  the  book  of  the  future  it  was  written  that 
this  wonderful  fish  was  predestined  to  be  caught  by 
his  own  royal  hands.  This  put  him  into  excellent 
spirits,  and  he  proposed  to  the  Arch-Druid  that  they 
should  "  make  a  night  of  it,"  which  they  did,  upon 
mead  or  metheglin — for,  in  those  days,  whiskey  had 
not  been  invented. 

The  next  day  they  set  off  on  their  fishing-tour. 
The  way  was  long,  the  roads  bad,  and  travelling 
rather  dangerous.  But,  seating  themselves  on  the 
Arch-Druid's  cloak,  its  wizard-owner  muttering  a 
few  cabalistic  words,  forthwith  they  were  wafted, 
men  and  cloak,  through  the  air,  on  the  swift  wings 
of  the  wind,  to  the  precipitous  ridge  of  hills  sur- 
rounding the  lofty  rock  now  called  Croagh  Patrick. 
The  cloak  and  its  two  passengers  finally  dropped 
down  on  the  bank  of  the  river  of  which  the  Arch- 
Druid  had  spoken. 

They  followed  the  course  of  the  stream  through 
one  of  the  most  fertile  valleys  that  sunshine  ever 
glanced  upon,  until  they  reached  a  dark  cavern 
where  the  struggling  waters  sink  suddenly  into  the 
earth.    No  one  has  yet  been  able  to  ascertain  whither 


FINN   AND   THE   FISH.  57 

*lie  stream  finally  goes — whether  it  again  rises  to  the 
€arth  —  whether  it  runs  through  a  subterranean 
t^hannel,  or  is  sucked  in  to  quench  the  Phiegethon 
•of  this  world's  central  fires.  No  one  knows — nor 
would  it  much  matter  if  he  did. 

Close  by  the- mouth  of  this  cavern  is  a  dark,  deep 
hollow,  over  which  the  gloom  of  eternal  night  ever 
seems  to  rest,  and  into  which  the  stream  falls  before 
it  sinks  into  the  abyss,  whirling  in  foaming  eddies, 
warring  as  in  agony,  and  casting  up  a  jet  of  spray 
into  the  air.  Loudly  the  waters  roar  as  they  fall  en 
the  rugged  rock  beneath — they  are  whirled  round 
and  round,  until,  at  regular  intervals,  they  descend 
into  the  yawning  gulf  beneath. 

In  this  pool,  among  thousands  of  fishes,  of  all 
sorts  and  sizes,  was  the  Salmon  of  Knowledge,  the 
possession  of  which  was  to  make  King  Mac  Carthy 
amazingly  wise,  and  irresistibly  mighty.  By  this 
pool  he  sat,  in  company  with  the  Arch-Druid,  day 
ailer  day,  for  a  whole  month,  untO.  their  patience 
was  nearly,  and  their  provisions  wholly,  exhausted. 
They  had  sport  enough  to  satisfy  Izaak  Walton 
himself,  for  they  were  perpetually  catching  fish. 
There  was  a  little  hut  hard  by,  and  in  it  the  King 
and  the  Arch-Druid  alternately  ofl&ciated  as  cook. 
Still,  though  he  was  latterly  on  a  fish  diet,  the  King 
grew  never  t be  wiser.  He  got  so  tired  of  that  kind 
of  food  thf,t  historians  have  gone  the  length 
of  jisserting  that  even  a  Hoboken  turtle-feed 
3* 


68  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

■would  have  had  no  charm  for  his  palled  appetite* 
Amid  the  finest  fish  that  Eojalty  ever  feasted  upon, 
he  sighed  for  the  white  and  red  of  his  own  fine 
mutton  from  the  green  fields  of  Munster. 

To  add  to  his  misfortune,  though  he  wanted  only 
one  salmon,  fish  of  all  sorts  would  lu)ok  themselves 
on  to  his  line.  There  was  perpetual  trouble  in  tak- 
ing them  off  the  hook.  They  determined  to  judge 
of  the  salmon,  as  Lavater  did  of  men,  by  their  looks. 
Therefore  the  fat  and  plump  fish  obtained  the  dan- 
gerous distinction  of  being  broiled  or  boiled,  while 
the  puny  ones  were  thrown  back,  with  the  other 
fish,  into  the  water. 

Thus  it  happened  that,  one  evening  at  dusk,  a  lank^ 
lean,  spent  salmon  having  been  caught,  they  did  not 
think  it  worth  cooking,  and  the  King  took  it  up  ta 
throw  it  back  into  the  water.  He  did  not  cast  it 
far  enough,  and  the  poor  fish  remained  on  the  bank* 
It  was  quietly  wriggling  itself  back  into  its  native 
element,  when  it  was  espied  by  a  little  boy  who  had 
a  special  taste  for  broiled  fish.  He  seized  it,  took 
it  home,  made  a  fire,  and  set  about  cooking  it. 

This  youth  was  the  famous  Finn  Mac  Coul: — but 
he  was  not  famous  then.  He  had  fled  from  th& 
South,  from  some  enemies  of  his  family,  and,  being 
hungry,  the  salmon,  poor  and  lean  as  it  seemed,  was 
better  to  him  than  nothing. 

The  fire  being  red,  he  put  the  salmon  apon  it. 
The  poor  f.sh^  not  quite  dead,  writhed  on  the  liv© 


FINN   AND   THE    FISH.  5& 

coals,  and  the  heat  caused  a  great  blister  to  swell 
out  upon  its  side.  Finn  Mac  Coul  noticed  this,  and^ 
fearing  that  the  fish  would  be  spoiled  if  the  blister 
were  to  rise  any  more,  pressed  his  thumb  upon  it^ 
The  heat  soon  made  him  withdraw  it.  Naturally 
enough,  he  put  it  into  his  mouth  to  draw  out  the 
pain.  At  that  moment,  he  felt  a  strange  thrill 
throughout  his  whole  frame.  He  was  suddenly 
changed  in  mind.  The  moment  that  thumb  touched 
his  lips  he  had  incease  of  knowledge.  That  told 
him  that  he  could  do  no  better  than  devour  the  sal 
mon.  That  done,  he  was  a  changed  Finn — a  new 
and  enlarged  edition,  with  additions ;  quite  a  tall 
paper  copy.  • 

That  night,  Finn  Mac  Coul  quietly  strayed  down 
to  the  cavern,  and  found  the  King  and  the  Arch- 
Druid  at  high  words.  His  majesty  had  dreamed,  in 
his  afternoon  nap,  that  the  Salmon  of  Knowledge 
had  been  on  his  hook,  and  that  the  Arch-Druid  had 
coaxed  it  off,  and  privily  cooked  and  eaten  it.  Finn 
told  him  that  the  Arch-Druid  knew  that  the  salmon 
could  be  caught  only  by  a  King's  hand,  but  had  in- 
tended, even  before  they  left  Munster,  to  cook  and  eat 
it  himself,  and  then  to  usurp  the  crown.  The  Arch- 
Druid,  who  had  a  conscience,  had  not  a  word  of  ex- 
planation or  excuse.  The  King  immediately  ran 
him  through  the  body,  and  engaged  Finn  (who,  by 
this  time,  had  shot  up  to  the  height  of  twelve  feet) 
to  lead  his  armies  against  the  invading  King  of 


^0  BITS  OF   BLARNTcr. 

Leinster,  and  the  result  was  tliat,  so  far  from  con- 
■quering  Munster,  and  appropriating  the  Golden 
Vale,  King  Mac  Murragh  was  obliged  to  pray  for 
pardon,  and  to  pay  tribute  to  King  Mac  Carthy, 
who  thenceforward,  with  the  aid  of  Finn  Mac  Coul'a 
strength  of  mind  and  body,  wa."  the  most  powcrftil 
of  al]  the  monarchs  of  Ireland. 


THE  BREAKS  OF  BAIiLYNASCORNEY. 

Contemporary  with.  Finn  Mac  Coul,  was  the  re- 
"Downed  giant,  called  Ossian.  There  has  been  a 
'question  whether  he  were  Scotch  or  Irish.  But  as 
Ossian  certainly  came  all  the  way  from  Scotland  to 
compete  with  Finn  Mac  Coul,  it  is  not  likely  that 
they  were  countrymen. 

That  contest — ^it  was  of  the  description  given  by 
Ovid  of  what  took  place  between  Ajax  and  Ulysses. 
Go  to  that  wild  and  beautiful  district  near  Dublin, 
that  patch  of  mountain  scenery,  so  splendid  and  ro- 
mantic, known  as  the  Breaks  of  Ballynascorney  and 
learn,  as  T  aid,  what  tradition  now  reports  of  the 
contest  between  Ossian  and  Finn  Mac  Coul. 

A  mountain  road  winds  through  these  Breaks, 
like  a  huge  suake.  By  the  road-sido  there  stands 
a  tremendous  rock  of  granite — ^perfectly  isolated. 
Many  such  are  to  be  seen  scattered  over  the  island, 
and  the  general  belief  is,  that  each  column-stone 
marks  the  spot  where  some  noted  warrior  had  fallen 
in  the  old  contests  between  the  Irish  and  their  Danish 
invaders.     A  different  legend  belongs  to  this  rock. 

The  day  had  been  beautiful — one  of  those  brilliant 
days  of  softness  and  balm  so  prevalent  in  Ireland. 
The  noontide  sun  may  have  been  a  little  too  sunny, 

(61) 


<2  HITS   OF   BLARNET. 

"but  this  could  be  remedied  by  reposing  in  the  pleasant 
shadow  of  some  of  the  lofty  cairns  which  abound  in 
that  place.  The  day  gently  glided  on,  untij,  when  a 
summer-shower  made  the  heath  glitter  with  its  dia- 
♦nond  drops,  we  sought  shelter  in  a  rustic  cabin  by 
the  wayside.  ^ 

No  one  was  within,  but  an  old  woman,  remarkably 
talkative.  She  paid  us  a  world  of  attention — insin- 
'lated  a  world  of  compliments  on  tlie  beaming 
Deauty  of  the  fair  lady  who  accompanied  me — - 
would  "  engage  that  one  so  pretty  was  not  without 
a  sweetheart,"  and,  with  a  smile  at  myself,  "  would 
not  be  long  without  a  husband" — hoped  that  she 
"  would  be  happy  as  the  day  was  long,  and  live  to 
see  her  great-grand-children  at  her  feet," — was  cer- 
tain she  was  an  Irishwoman,  "for  she  had  the  fair 
face,  and  the  small  hand,  and  the  dark  blue  eye, 
and  the  long  black  lash,  and  the  bounding  step,"  and 
prophesied  more  good  fortune  than  (to  one  of  the 
party,  at  least)  has  yet  been  fulfilled. 

This  old  woman  was  a  good  specimen  of  a  shrewd 
Irish  peasant.  Her  compliments  were  insinuated, 
rather  than  expressed ;  and,  malgre  the  brogue,  I  ques- 
tion when  more  delicate  flattery — ^pleasant,  after  all, 
to  one's  amour  propre — could  be  more  dexterously 
conveyed  in  the  circles  which  we  call  brilliant.  This 
tact  in  the  matter  of  compliment  appears  intuitive. 

Allusion  having  been  made  to  the  granite  column 
n  the  neighborhood,  our  hostess  asked  w^hether  we 


BLARNEYING !  68 

should  like  "to  know  all  about  it."  The  answer 
was  in  the  affirmative,  and  then — happy  to  hear  the 
tones  of  her  own  voice,  proud  of  giving  information 
to  persons  above  her  own  station,  and  in  pleased  an- 
ticipatj.on  of  a  douceur — she  told  us  a  legend 'which, 
-as  she  was  rather  prolix,  I  shall  take  leave  to  give 
you  in  my  own  wordis. 


H^TN   MAC   COULS   JTN'aES-STO^  K 

f'iXN  Mac  Coul  went  hunting  one  day  on  tue- 
(.lurragh  of  Kildare.  His  spoit  was  indifferent,  for 
he  brought  down  only  a  leash  of  red  deer,  and  a 
couple  of  wolves.  He  came  back  to  his  house,  on 
the  hill  of  Allen,  in  such  bad  spirits,  that  his  wife 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  and  said  that,  na 
doubt,  he  would  have  better  sport  another  time. 
Heaving  a  deep  sigh,  he  told  her  that  it  was  not  his 
bad  sport  that  annoyed  him,  but  that  news  had  that 
morning  reached  him  that  Ossian,  the  Scotch  giant, 
was  coming  over  to  challenge  him  to  a  trial  of 
strength,  and  if  he  lost  the  diiy — for  he  could  not 
decline  the  contest — his  credit,  and  the  credit  of 
Ireland,  would  be  gone  forever. 

At  this  news,  Finn's  wife  became  as  low-spirited 
as  himself  They  sat  by  the  fire,  like  Witherington, 
"  in  doleful  dumps,"  and  their  thoughts  were  the  re- 
verse of  happy. 

Suddenly,  the  lady — for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  designate  her  as  plain  "Mrs.  Mac 
Coul" — asked  her  disconsolate  lord  and  master  at 
what  time  Ossian  was  expected  to  arrive?  Finn 
told  her  that  the  Scottish  Hercules  had  intimated 
his  intention  of  payi  ig  his  visit  at  noon  on  the  fol- 

(64) 


FINN   MAC   COUL'S   FINGER-STONE.  65 

lo^ving  daj.  "Oh!  then,"  said  she,  brightening  up, 
*'  there's  no  need  to  despair.  Leave  all  to  me,  and 
I'll  bring  you  through  it  like  a  Trojan.  A  blot  is 
no  blot  until  'tis  entered."  This  remark,  showing  at 
once  her  philosophy  and  her  knowledge  of  back- 
gammon, was  very  consolatory  to  Finn  Mac  Coul» 
who,  like  men  before  and  since,  was  rather  under 
what  is  called  petticoat  government.  His  mind  was 
relieved  when  his  wife  saw  daylight. 

After  breakfast,  the  next  day,  Finn  (by  his  wife's 
direction)  went  into  a  huge  child's-cradle,  a  feat 
which  he  had  some  difficulty  in  accomplishing 
There  he  lay,  crumpled  up  uneasily,  while  sh6  kept 
busy  in  the  kitchen,  baking  some  cake  or  griddle" 
bread. 

By-and-bye,  up  came  Ossian,  who  knocked  at  the 
door,  and  civilly  inquired  whether  Finn  Mac  Coul 
lived  there,  and  if  he  were  at  home?  "No,"  said 
his  wife,  "he's  gone  to  the  fair  of  Bartlemy;  but  I 
am  his  wife,  and,  perhaps,  I  can  answer  for  him." 

"  What !"  said  Ossian,  "  did  not  he  hear  that  I, 
Ossian  of  Scotland,  was  coming  over  for  a  trial  of 
strength  with  him?  I  hope  he  does  not  mean  to 
skulk.  Wherever  he  may  be,  I  shall  not  return 
home  until  I  see  him,  and  until  he  feel  me." 

When  the  wife  found  that  Ossian  was  too  far 
North  to  be  put  off  by  a  "not  at  home,"  she  put 
the  best  face  on  it,  welcomed  him  to  Ireland,  hoped 
he  had  a  pleasant  passage,  and  that  the  tossing  on 


<56  BITS   OF   BLAKNEx'. 

tlie  salt-water  did  not  disagree  -witli  liim,  invited 
liiin  into  the  house,  and  said  that  Finn  would  soon 
be  back,, and  ready  to  indulge  him  in  any  way  he 
pleased. 

Ossian  sat  down  by  the  fire,  quite  at  his  ease.. 
lie  had  a  great  conceit  of  himself,  and  was,  indeed, 
the  strongest  man  in  Europe  at  that  time.  He 
noticed  the  large  cakes  that  were  baking  in  the 
oven,  each  of  them  taking  two  stone  weight  of  flour, 
and  asked  why  she  made  them  of  such  a  size- 
*'They  are  for  that  little  creature  in  the  cradle, 
there,"  said  she,  pointing  over  her  shoulder  to  Finn. 
Then  Ossian  looked  round,  and  noticed  the  cradle, 
with  Finn  in  it,  and  a  night-cap  on  his  head,  and 
tied  under  his  chin,  and  he  pretending  to  be  fast 
asleep  all  the  time. 

Astonished  at  the  immense  bulk,  Ossian  called 
out,  "Who's  there?  What  man  is  that  in  the 
cradle?"  "Man!"  said  Finn's  wife,  with  a  pleasant 
little  laugh,  "that's  our  youngest  child.  I  am 
weaning  him  now,  and  I  sometimes  think  the  fairies 
have  overlooked  htm,  he's  so  dwarfed  and  small,  and 
does  not  promise  to  be  half  the  size  of  his  father  and 
li's  brothers." 

Ossian  never  said  a  word  to  that;  but  he  could 
not  take  his  eyes  off  the  cradle,  thinking,  no  doubt, 
if  the  undergrown  baby  was  such  a  bouncer,  what 
must  the  father  be. 

By-and-bye,  Finn's  wife  told  Ossian  that,  as  he 


FINN   MAC   COUL  S    FENGER-STONE.  67 

tiad  a  long  journey,  and  Firm  was  staying  out  longer 
than  she  expected,  he  might  as  well  take  some  re- 
freshment, without  waiting  for  him.  The  cakes 
were  nice  and'  brown:  by  this  time,  and  she  asked 
liim  to  break  his  fast  with  one  of  them.  He  took  it, 
:and  when  he  made  a  bite  in  it,  he  roared  again  with 
]iain,  for  his  two  best  front  teeth  were  broken. 
"Oh!"  he  cried  out,  "it  is  as  hard  as  iron," — and 
so  it  might  be,  for  she  liad  put  an  iron  griddle  into 
it,  and  baked  it  with  it  in.  "Hard?"  said  she. 
*'  Why,  that  child  there  would  not  taste  it  if  it  were 
a  bit  softer." 

Then  she  recommended  Ossian  to  wash  the  pain 
Away  with  a  sup  of  the  finest  whiskey  in  the  prov- 
ince ;  and  she  fetched  a  wooden  piggin,  that  would 
liold  about  a  gallon  to  a  gallon  and  a  half,  and  filled  it 
to  the  brim.  Ossian  took  a  long  pull  at  it ;  as  much  aa 
a  quart  or  so.  Then  Finn's  wife  laughed  downright 
at  him  for  taking  so  little.  "Why,"  said  she,  "  the 
■child  there  in  the  cradle  thinks  nothing  of  emptyh  vg 
that  piggin  in  one  draught."  So,  for  shame's  sake, 
and  because  he  did  not  like  to  be  thought  a  milk-sop, 
Ossian  took  a  little  more,  and  a  little  more  yet,  until, 
before  long,  the  liquor  got  the  better  of  him. 

Now,  this  was  the  very  pass  that  the  good  wife 
wished  to  bring  him  to.  "  While  his  father  is  out," 
said  she,  "and  I  wonder  why  he  is  not  home  before 
now,  may-be  you'd  like  to  see  the  child  there  throw 
51  stone,  or  try  a  fall  with  you,  or  do  any  of  the  di- 


6J  BITS   OF   BLAKXEt. 

verting  little  tricks  that  his  fatlicr  teaclies  hini."' 
Ossian  consented,  and  she  went  over  to  the  cradle 
and  gave  Finn  a  shake.  "  Wake  up,  dear,"  said  she, 
"and  amuse  the  gentleman." 

So  Finn  stretched  himself,  and  Ossian  wondered 
at  his  black  beard,  and  his  great  bulk.  "  Ton  my 
word,"  said  he,  "you're  a  fine  child  for  your  age." 
Then,  turning  to  Finn's  wife,  he  asked,  "  Has  he  cut 
any  of  his  teeth  yet  ?"  She  bade  him  feel  his  gums.. 
Then  Ossian  put  two  of  his  fingers  into  Finn's 
mouth,  and  the  moment  they  were  there  Finn  bit. 
them  to  the  bone.  Ossian  jumped  round  the  room 
with  pain.  "Ah!"  said  Finn's  wife,  "you  should 
see  his  father's  teeth ;  he  thinks  nothing  of  biting  oft' 
the  head  of  a  two-shilling  nail,  when  he  uses  it  for 
a  tooth-pick." 

By  this  time,  Ossian  was  far  from  comfortable. 
But  he  thought  he  must  put  the  best  fiice  on  it ;  so 
he  said  to  Finn,  "Come,  my  lad,  let  us  see  how 
your  father  teaches  you  to  wrestle." 

Finn  did  not  say  a  word,  but  grappled  Ossian 
round  the  waist,  and  laid  him  sprawling  on  the 
ground  before  he  could  say  "  Jack  Robinson." 
Ossian  picked  himself  up,  very  sulkily,  and  rubbed 
the  place  that  had  come  in  contact  with  the  hard 
floor  of  the  kitchen. 

"Now,"  said  Finn's  wife,  "  may-be  you'd  like  to 
see  the  child  throw  a  stone."  And  then  Finn  went- 
in  front  of  the  house,  where  there  was  a  heap  of' 


FIXX  MAC  col'l's  fixger-stone.  6S 

great  rocks,  aud  he  took  up  the  very  identi  jal  stone 
which  now  stands  in  the  Breaks  of  Balljtascurey, 
:and  flung  it  all  the  way  from  the  hill  of  Al  len.  To 
this  day  it  bears  the  marks  of  Finn's  five  fingers  and 
thumb — for  his  hand  was  not  like  an  ordinary  hand 
— when  he  grasped  it;  aud  to  this  day,  also,  that 
•stone  bears  Finn's  name. 

Ossii^n  wai:  groatly  surprised,  as  well  he  might  be, 
at  such  a  cast,  lie  asked,  "  Could  your  father  throw 
such  a  stone  much  farther?" — "Is  it  my  lather?" 
said  Finn  :  "faith,  he'd  cast  it  all  the  way  to  Ame- 
rica, or  Scotland,  or  the  Western  Injes,  and  think 
nothir-i?-  yf   ' !" 

This  was  enough  for  Ossian.  He  would  noi  ven- 
ture on  a  trial  of  strength  with  the  father,  when  the 
son  ecu  Id  beat  him.  So  he  pretended  to  recollect 
some  sudden  business  that  called  him  back,  post- 
haste, to  Scotland,  thinking  he  never  could  get 
away  half  quick  enough.  And  the  stonv  lemains 
where  Finn  threw  it,  and,  if  you  only  go  that  way, 
any  one  on  or  near  the  Sighau..  mountain  ^vill  show 
you  Finn  Mac  Coul's  Flntger-Stone. 


IKISH     STORIKS. 


THE    PETEiriED    PIPER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"WHO  THE   PIPER  WAS. 

Irish  Legends  almost  invariably  remind  rne  of 
the  i'ield  of  Waterloo.  When  our  tourists  rushed 
€71  masse,  to  behold  the  plain  on  which  the  destinies 
of  Europe  had  been  decided,  they  exhibited  the 
usual  relic-hunting  and  relic-buying  mania.  Bullets 
and  helmet  ornaments,  rusty  pistols  and  broken 
swords,  buttons  and  spurs,  and  such  things — actu- 
ally found  on  the  battle-field — were  soon  disposed 
of,  while  of  the  tourists  it  might  be  said,  as  of  the 
host  of  Dunsinane,  "  The  cry  is  still  'they  come  !' " 
So,  the  demand  exceeding  the  legitimate  supply, 
the  Belgian  peasantry  began  to  dispose  of  fictitious 
relics,  and  a  very  profitable  trade  it  was  for  a  long 
•time.  To  this  day,  they  are  carefully  manufactured, 
""to  order,"  by  more  than  one  of  the  hardware 
makers  of  Birmingham. 

In  the  same  manner,  Irish  legends  ha"ving  become 
a  marketable  commodity  (Carleton  and  Crofton 
Croker,    Banim   and   Griffi  i,    Lover   and   Whiity, 

4  178) 


74.  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

having  worked  the  vein  deeply),  people  had  re- 
course to  invention  instead  of  tradition — like  George- 
Psalmanazar's  History  of  Formosa,  in  which  fiction 
supplied  the  place  of  fact.  Very  amusing,  no  doubt; 
but  not  qu  te  fair.  More  ingenious  than  honest. 
Therefore,  the  Irish  story  I  shall  relate,  if  it 
possesses  none  other,  shall  have  the  merit,  at  leasi^ 
of  being  "  founded  on  facts." 

Fermoy  is  one  of  the  prettiest  towns  in  Ireland. 
It  is  not  very  remote  from  that  very  distinguished 
Southern  metropolis — of  pigs  and  porter — known  as 
"  the  beautiful  city  of  Cork."  Midway  between  city 
and  town  lies  Watcr-grass-hill,  a  pretty  village,  lo- 
cated on  the  highest  arable  land  in  Ireland,  and  now 
immortal  as  having  once  been  the  residence  of  the 
celebrated  Father  Prout.  Some  people  prefer  the 
country-town  to  the  crowded  city:  for,  though  its 
trade  be  small,  its  society  rather  too  fond  of  scandal,, 
its  church  without  a  steeple,  and  its  politicians  par- 
ticularly intolerant,  Fermoy  is  in  the  heart  of  a  fertile 
and  picturesque  tract,  and  there  flows  through  it  that, 
noble  river,  the  Blackwater,  honorably  mentioned  by 
k'penser,  and  honored  in  later  song  as  the  scene  where 
might  be  beheld 

"  The  trout  and  the  salmon 

A-playmg  backgammon. 

All  on  the  banks  of  sweet  Castie  Hyde." 

The  scenery  around  Fermoy  is  indeed  most  b«ai>- 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER,  75 

'J  .111,  and  above  all  (in  more  meanings  than  one)  towers 
'"orrig  Thierna — the  Lord's  rock,  commonly  spoken^ 
c  f  as  Corran — which,  to  such  of  the  inhabitants  a& 
iiave  not  seen  greater  elevations,  appears  a  mountain, 
entitled  to  vie  with  what  they  have  heard  of  the  Alps, 
A-ppenines,  or  Andes. 

Although  Fermoy  now  contains  fully  seven  hun- 
dred houses  (exclusive  of  stables  and  pigsties),  and 
a  population  of  nearly  seven  thousand  souls,  men,, 
women,  and  children — to  say  nothing  of  horses,  oxen, 
sheep,  mules,  donkies,  cats,  dogs,  and  such  other  crea- 
tures as  have  no  souls — ^it  was  not  always  so  exten- 
sive and  populous. 

In  every  town  a  high  traditional  authority  is  con- 
stantly referred  to  as  "within  the  memory  of  the- 
oldest  inhabitant,"  and  it  may  be  stated,  on  this- 
antique  authority,  that,  not  much  more  than  half  a 
'.century  since,  Fermoy  was  a  very  small  and  obscure- 
hamlet,  consisting  of  no  more  than  one  little  pot- 
house and  half  a  dozen  other  mud-cabins,  luxuriantly 
located,  with  some  ingenuity,  so  as  to  enjoy,  front 
and  rear,  a  maximum  of  the  morning  and  afternoon 
sunshine.  These  domiciles  were  ranged  in  a  row, 
and  hence  arose  the  figurative  saying,  "All  on  one 
side,  like  the  town  of  Fermoy."  The  energy,  ability, 
and  capital  of  one  man  (the  late  John  Anderson,  who 
introduced  mail-coaches  into  Ireland),  raised  the  vil- 
lage of  Fermoy  into  a  populous  and  thriving  town^ 
which,  in  1809,  was  a  merry  place — partly  owing  to 


76  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

the  jnirth  whose  chief  minister  was  Remmy  Canoll 
son  of  old  Carroll,  the  piper. 

As  Remmy  is  the  hero  of  my  tale,  it  is  only 
proper  that  I  should  describe  him.  Irish  parlance 
•emphatically  distinguished  him  as  "a  mighty  clever 
boy,"  whicli^did  not  mean  a  compliment  to  his  ca- 
pacity or  acquirements,  but  was  simply  a  figure  of 
■speech  to  declare  that  this  Hibernian  Orpheus  stood 
-about  "  six  feet  two  in  his  stocking- vamps."  Remmy 
-Carroll's  personal  appearance  was  not  quite  as  dis- 
-tingue  as  that  of  his  great  contemporary,  Beau 
Brummell.  His  coat,  originally  of  blue  frieze,  had 
worn  down,  by  age  and  service,  to  a  sort  of  bright 
•gray,  tessellated,  like  mosaic-work,  with  emendations 
of  the  original  substance  carefully  annexed  thereto 
by  Remmy's  own  industrious  fingers.  The  garment, 
like  the  wearer,  had  known  many  a  fray,  and 
Remmy  was  wont  to  observe,  jocularly,  when  he 
sat  down  to  repair  these  breaches,  that  then,  like  a 
i:Uan  of  landed  property,  he  was  occupied  in  "  taking 
liis  rents." 

Care  is  not  very  likely  to  kill  a  man  who  can  jest 
upon  his  own  poverty.  Accordingly,  Remmy  Car- 
roll was  as  light-hearted  a  fellow  as  could  be  met 
v?/ith  in  town  or  country.  He  was  a  gentleman  ac- 
customed to  live  hosv  and  where  he  could,  ani  he 
Tras  welcomed  everywhere.  It  was  mentioned,  as 
^Q  urioubted  fact,  that  where  men  of  substai-ce — 
■rion   farmers  and  thriving  shopkeepers — ^had  been 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  77 

verj  coldly  received  by  bright- eyed  augers  in  petti- 
coats, looks  and  even  words  of  encouragement  had 
Deen  extended  to  Remmy  Carroll.  The  fair  sex  are- 
proverbially  of  a  kind  nature,  especiaUy  towards- 
young  men,  who,  like  Carroll,  have  handsome  fea- 
tures and  jocund  speech,  lofty  stature  and  winning 
smiles,  that  symmetry  of  limb  which  pleases  the  eye, 
and  that  subduing  conversation  which  pleases  the 
ear.  AVhat  was  more,  Remmy  Carroll  knew  very 
well — none  better ! — that  he  was  a  favorite  ^\T.th  the. 
rose-cheeked  Venuses  of  Ferrnoy  and  its  vicinity. 
It  may  be  mentioned  also — ras  sotto  voce  as  type  can. 
express  it — that  he  was  also  perfectly  aware  that  he 
was  a  very  personable  fellow,  what  Coleridge  has 
described  as  "a  noticeable  man."  Was  there  ever 
any  one,  no  matter  of  what  age  or  sex,  possessing 
personal  advantages,  who  was  not  fully  aware  of  the 
fact? 

It  would  be  tedious  to  expatiate  very  particularly 
upon  the  extent  and  variety  of  Remmy  Carroll's  ac- 
complishments. He  followed  the  hereditary  pro- 
fession of  his  family,  and  was  distinguished,  far  and 
near,  for  his  really  splendid  execution  on  the  Irish 
pipes — an  instrument  which  can  be  made  to  "  dis- 
course most  excellent  music,"  and  must  never  be 
confounded  with  the  odious  drone  of  the  Scottish 
bag-pipes.  Remmy's  performance  could  almost  ex- 
cite the  very  chairs,  tables,  and  three-legged  stoola 
to  dance.     One  set  of  pipes  is  worth  a  dozen  fiddlea^ 


78  BITS   OF   BLARXEY. 

for  it  can  "  take  the  shine  out  of  them  all"  in  point 
of  loudness.  But  then,  these  same  pipes  can  do 
more  than  make  a  noise.  The  warrior,  boldest  in 
•the  field,  is  gentlest  at  the  feet  of  his  ladje-lcve; 
•and  so,  the  Irish  pipes,  which  can  sound  a  strain  al- 
most as  loud  as  a  trumpet-call,  can  also  breathe  forth 
•a  tide  of  gushing  melody — sweet,  soft,  and  low  as 
the  first  whisper  of  mutual  love.  You  have  never 
felt  the  eloquent  expression  of  Irish  music,  if  you 
have  not  heard  it  from  the  Irish  pipes.*  It  is  quite 
marvellous  that,  amid  all  the  novelties  of  instru- 
mentation (if  I  may  coin  a  word)  which  are  thrust 
iupon  the  patient  public,  season  after  season — includ- 
ing the  Jews' -harping  of  Eulenstein,  the  chin-chop- 
ping of  Michael  Boiai,  and  the  rock-harmonicon  of 
ihe  Derbyshire  mechanics — ^no  one  has  thought  of 
exhibiting  the  melodious  performance  of  an  Irish 


*  This  praise  of  the  Irish  pipes  is  by  no  means  exaggerated. 
The  last  performer  of  any  note,  in  Fermoy,  was  an  apothecary, 
named  O'Dounell,  who  certainly  could  make  them  discourse 
■"  most  eloquent  music."  He  died  about  fifteen  years  ago.  It 
was  almost  impossible  to  listen  with  dry  eyes  and  umnoved 
heart  to  the  exquisite  manner  in  which  he  played  the  Irish 
•melodies — the  real  ones,  I  mean — not  those  which  Tom  Moore 
and  Sir  John  Stevenson  had  "  adopted"  (and  emasculated)  for 
polite  and  fashionable  piano-forte  players  and  singers.  There  is 
now  in  New  York  a  gentleman,  named  Charles  Ferguson, 
whose  peiformance  on  the  Irish  pipes  may  be  said  to  equal — it 
«.''"V^  not  surpass — that  of  O'Donnell. 


TUt:    PETRIFIED    PIPER.  79 

piper.  If  he  confined  himself  to  the  Irish  ine. .  dies, 
5ind  really  were  a  first-rate  performer,  he  could  not 
fail  to  please,  to  delight,  to  astonish.  But,  again  I 
«aj,  do  not  confound  the  sweet  harmony  of  the  Irish 
with  the  drony  buzz  of  the  Scotch  pipes. 

Remmy  Carroll's  accomplishments  were  not 
limited  to  things  musical.  He  could  out- walk,  out- 
run, and  out-leap  any  man  in  the  barony  of  Condons 
and  Clongibbons ;  aye,  or  of  any  five  other  baronieff 
in  the  county  of  Cork,  the  Yorkshire  of  Ir<^'.ard. 
lie  could  back  the  most  vicious  horse  that  f-'/e. 
dared  to  rear  and  kick  against  human  supremacy. 
He  had  accepted  the  challenge  scornfully  given  to 
the  whole  world,  by  Big  Brown  of  Kilworth,  to 
wrestle,  and  had  given  him  four  fair  falls  out  of  five, 
a  matter  so  much  taken  to  heart  by  the  said  Big  one, 
that  he  emigrated  to  London,  where,  overcome  with 
liquor  and  loyalty,  he  was  tempted  to  enlist  in  an 
infantry  regiment,  and  was  shot  through  the  head 
at  the  storming  of  Badajoz  some  short  time  after. 

Remrny  Carroll  could  do,  and  had  done  more  than 
•defeat  Brown.  He  could  swim  like  a  fish,  was  the 
only  man  ever  known  to  dive  under  that  miniature 
Maeilstrom  which  eddies  at  the  base  of  The  Nailer's 
Rock  (nearly  opposite  Barnaan  Well),  and,  before 
he  was  one-and-twenty,  had  saved  nine  unfortunates 
'from  being  drowned  in  the  fatal  Blackwater.* 

*  There  really  was  a  person  named  Carroll  residing  in  Fermcy 
at  the  date  of  this  story.    He  was  of  gigantic  staturp  and  strength. 


^0  BITS   Oi<'    BLARNEY. 

i>o  man  in  the  county  could  beat  him  at  hurly^ 
or  foot-ball.  He  was  a  crack  hand  at  a  faction-fight 
en  a  fair  day — only,  as  a  natural  spirit  of  generosity 
sometimes  impelled  him,  with  a  reckless  chivalry,. 
BO  side  with  the  weaker  party,  he  had,  more  than 
once,  been  found  magnanimously  battling  against 
hj3  own  friends. 

Yet  more. — Having  had  the  advantage  of  three 
Years'  instruction  at  Tim  Daly's  far-famed  Acade- 
my, Kemmy  Carroll  was  master  of  what  a  farmer^ 

with  the  mildest  temper  ever  possessed  by  mortal  man.  He  wa» 
noted  for  his  excellence  in  swimming  and  his  remarkable  skill  as 
a  diver.  Whenever  any  person  had  been  drowned  in  the  Black- 
water,  (which  runs  through  Fermoy,)  Carroll  was  sent  for,  and 
never  quitted  the  river  until  he  had  found  the-  body.  There  is 
f'.ne  part  considered  particularly  dangerous,  opposite  Barnaau 
^Vell,  in  which  a  large  projection,  called  the  Nailer's  Kock^ 
bhelves  out  into  the  water,  making  an  under-current  of  such 
peculiar  strength  and  danger,  that  even  expert  swimmers  avoid 
it,  from  a  fear  of  being  drawn  within  the  vortex.  Many  livea 
have  been  lost  in  this  fatal  eddy,  into  which  Carroll  waa 
accustomed  to  dive,  most  fearlessly,  in  search  of  the  bodies. 
It  was  calculated  that  Carroll  had  actually  saved  twenty-two 
persons  from  being  drowned,  and  had  recovered  over  fifty  corpses 
from  the  river.  When  he  died,  which  event  happened  at  the 
commencement  of  the  bathing  season,  a  general  sorrow  fell  upon 
all  classes  in  the  town  of  Fermoy,  and  for  several  weeks  no  one 
ventured  into  the  river.  It  was  as  if  their  guardian  and  safe- 
guard had  departed.  In  my  youth  passed  on  the  banks  of  the 
Blackwater,  there  was  a  belief  that  whenever  one  person  was 
drowned  in  *.hat  river,  two  others  were  sure  to  follow,  in  thfr 
«ame  season. 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIFEK.  Hi 

more  alliterative  than  wise,  called  "  the  mys- 
teiy  of  the  three  R's :  —  Reading,  'Riting,  and . 
'Rithraetic."  He  knew,  by  the  simple  taste,  when 
the  Potheen  was  sufficiently  "above  proof."  He 
had  a  ten-Irishman  power  of  love-making,  and  while 
the  maidens  (with  blushes,  smiles,  and  softly-simi 
lated  angers)  would  exclaim,  "Ah,  then,  be  done, 
Remmy! — for  a  deluder  as  ye  are!"  there  usually 
was  such  a  sly  intelligence  beaming  from  their  brighr. 
eyes,  as  assured  him  that  he  was  not  unwelcome; 
j*nd  then  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  kiss  them  into,  perfect 
good-humor  and  forgiveness. — But  I  am  cataloguing 
Lis  accomplishments  at  too  much  length.  Let  it 
^uffice  to  declare,  that  Remmy  Carroll  wfis  cor»fei?s- 
cdly  the  Admirable  Crichton  of  the  distiiol. 

He  was  au  independent  citizen  of  the  world — for 
ise  had  no  particular  settled  habitation.  He  was  a 
popular  character — ^for  every  habitation  was  open 
to  him,  from  Tim  Mulcahy's,  who  lived  with  hia 
Vfife  and  pig,  in  a  windowless  mud-cubin,  at  the 
f'ot  of  Corran,  to  Mr.  Bartle  Mahony's  two-story 
dilated  house,  on  a  three  hundred 'acre  farm,  at  Car- 
ngabrick,  on  the  banks  of  the  Blackwater.  At  the 
latter  abode  of  wealth,  however,  Remmy  Carroll  had 
not  lately  called. 

Mr,    Bartholomew   Mahony  —  familiarly   called 

"Barlle" — was  a  man  of  substance.     Had  he  lived 

now,  ne  might  have  sported  a  hunter  for  himself 

and  set  up  a  jaunting-car  for  his  daughter.    But  the 

4* 


82  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

honest,  ■s^•ell-to-do  farmer  had  at  once  too  muca 
pride  and  sagacity  to  sink  into  the  Squireen.  He 
was  satistied  with  his  station  in  life,  and  did  not 
aspire  beyond  it.  He  was  passing  rich  in  the  world's 
eye.  Many,  even  of  the  worldlings,  thought  less  of 
his  wealth  thac  of  his  daughter,  Mary.  Of  all  who. 
admired,  none  loved  her  half  so  well  as  poor  Remmy 
Carroll,  who  loved  the  more  deeply,  because  very 
hopelessly,  inasmuch  as  her  wealth  and  his  own 
poverty  shut  him  out  from  all  reasonable  prospect 
of  success.  He  admired — nay,  that  is  by  far  too 
weak  a  word :  he  almost  adored  her,  scarcely  daring 
to  confess,  even  to  his  own  heart,  how  closely  her 
image  was  blended  with  the  very  life  of  his  being. 

Mary  Mahony  was  an  Irish  beauty;  that  most 
indescribable  of  all  breathing  loveliness,  with  dark 
hair,  fair  skin,  and  violet  eyes,  a  combination  to 
which  the  brilliant  pencil  of  Maclise  has  often  ren- 
dered justice.  She  had  a  right  to  look  high,  in  a 
matrimonial  way,  for  she  was  an  heiress  in  her  own 
right.  She  had  £500  left  her  as  a  legacy  by  an  old 
maiden-aunt,  near  Mitchelstown,  who  had  taken 
care  of  her  from  her  twelfth  year,  when  she  left  the 
famous  Academy  of  the  renowned  Tim  Daly  (where 
?he  and  Remmy  used  to  write  together  at  the  same 
desk),  until  some  eight  months  pre""'ious  to  the  date 
of  this  authentic  narrative,  when  the  maiden-aunt 
died,  bequeathing  her  property,  as  aforesaid,  to 
Mary  Mahony,  who  thsn  returned  to  her  father. 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  83 

With  all  her  good  fortune,  including  the  actual 
of  the  legacy,  and  the  ideal  of  inheritance  to  her 
father's  property — with  beauty  sufficient  to  have 
iturned  the  head  of  any  other  damsel  of  eighteen, 
Mary  Mahony  was  far  from  pride  or  conceit.  She 
had  the  lithest  form  and  the  most  graceful  figure  in 
the  world,  but  many  maidens,  with  far  less  means, 
wore  much  more  showy  and'  expensive  apparel 
Her  dark  hair  was  plainly  braided  off  her  white 
brow,  in  bands,  in  the  simplest  and  most  graceful 
manner ;  while,  from  beneath,  gleamed  orbs  so 
beautiful,  that  one  might  have  said  to  her,  in  the 
words  of  John  Ford,  the  dramatist, 

"  Once  a  young  lark 
Sat  on  thy  hand,  and  gazing  on  thine  eyes, 
Mounted  and  sung,  thinking  them  moving  skies." 

The  purple  stuff  gown  (it  was  prior  to  the  inven- 
^on  of  merinos  and  muslins-de-laine),  which,  in  its 
close  fit,  exhibited  the  exquisite  beauty  of  her  form, 
and  set  off,  by  contrast,  the  purity  of  her  complexion, 
was  also  a  within-doors  article  of  attire :  when  she 
•went  out,  she  donned  a  long  cloak  of  fine  blue  cloth, 
with  the  sides  and  hood  neatly  lined  with  pink 
■sarsnet.  Young  and  handsome  Irish  girls,  in  her 
rank  of  life,  were  not  usually  satisfied,  at  that  time, 
with  a  dress  so  quiet  and  so  much  the  reverse  of 
gay. 

But  Mary  Mahony's  beauty  required  nothing  to 


84  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

set  it  off'.  I  do  not  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  it 
was  literally  dazzling.  I  saw  her  twenty  years  after 
the  date  of  this  narrative,  and  was  even  then  struck 
with  admiration  of  her  matured  loveliness; — how 
rich,  then,  must  it  have  been  in  the  bud! 

Mary,  as  Eemmy  Carroll  ssdd  before  he  knew  that 
he  loved  her — for  the?!,  he  never  breathed  her  name 
to  mortal  ear, — was  "the  moral  of  a  darling  creature, 
only  t' would  be  hard  to  say  whether  she  was  most, 
good  or  handsome."  Her  hair,  as  I  have  said,  was 
dark  (light  tresses  are  comparatively  rare  in  Ireland),. 
and  her  eyes  were  of  so  deep  a  blue  that  nine  out 
of  ten  on  whom  they  glanced  mistook  them  for- 
black.  Then,  too,  the  long  lashes  veiling  them, 
and  the  lovely  cheek  ("  oh,  call  it  fair,  not  pale"),  on 
which  their  silky  length  reposed, — and  the  lips  so  red 
and  pouting,  and  the  bust  whose  gentle  heavings- 
were  just  visible  behind  the  modest  kerchief  which 
covered  it, — and  the  brow  white  as  snow  (but  neither 
too  high  nor  too  prominent), — and  the  fingers  tapering 
and  round,  and  the  form  lithe  and  graceful, — and  the 
feet  small  and  well-shaped,  and  the  nameless  air- 
which  gave  dignity  and  grace  to  every  motion  of 
this  country-girl !  Oh,  beautiful  was  Mary  Mahony, 
beautiful  as  the  bright  image  of  a  poet's  dream,  the 
memory  of  which  shadows  he  forth  in  the  verse 
which  challenges  immortality  in  the  minds  of  men. 

The  cor  tour  of  her.  face  was  neither  Eoman,  nor 
Grecian,  i  or  Gothio ; — it  was  essentially  Irish,  and 


THE    rKTJUFIED    PIPER.  bO 

I  defy  jou  to  find  a  finer.  The  only  drawback  (for 
I  must  be  candid)  was  that  her  nose  had  somewhat — 
^ust  the  shghtest — of  an  upward  inclination.  This, 
which  sometimes  lent  a  sort  of  piquancy  to  what 
would  otherwise  have  been  quite  a  Madonna-like 
faci,  only  made  her  not  too  handsome;  at  least,  so 
thought  her  admirers.  Lastly,  she  had  a  voice  as 
•sweet  as  ear  ever  loved  to  listen  to.  No  doubt,  it 
had  the  distinguishing  accents  of  her  country,  but 
with  her,  as  with  Scott's  Ellen,  they  were 

"  Silvery  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear. 
The  listener  held  his  breath  to  hear." 


CHAPTER  II. 
WHAT  THE   PIPER  DID. 

It  was  in  the  summer  of  1809,  that,  for  the  first 
time  since  both  of  them  were  children  and  school- 
iuates,  Remmy  Carroll  spoke  to  Mary  Mahony. 
Often  had  he  seen  her  at  the  dance,  Avhich  without 
.his  aid  could  not  be,  but  in  which,  alas,  he  could 
not  join — a  dancing  piper  being  almost  as  anomalous 
as  a  hunting  archbishop !  Often  had  he  admired  the 
■natural  grace  of  her  movements.  Often  had  he  been 
struck  by  the  bewitching  modesty  of  mien  and  mo- 
tion which  had  the  power  of  suddenly  changing  tho 


86  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

rakish,  rollicking  gallantry  of  her  followers  (for  she 
■vvas  a  reigning  toast)  into  a  most  respectful  homage. 
Often  had  he  noticed  her  at  chapel,  whither  she  came 
to  pray,  while  others  flaunted  and  gazed  as  if  they 
had  come  only  to  see  and  to  be  seen.  Often  had  he 
followed  her  very  footsteps,  at  a  distance — for  the 
very  ground  on  which  she  trod  was  hallowed  to  this 
humble  lover — but  never  yet  had  he  dared  to  hope. 

The  shortest  way  from  Fermoy  to  Carrigabrick 
Is  by  the  banks  of  the  Blackwater,  and  this  way,  on. 
Whitsunday,  1809,  was  taken  by  Mary  Mahony  and 
a  merry  younger  cousin  of  hers  on  their  homeward 
route.  There  are  stiles  to  be  crossed,  and  deep- 
drains  to  be  jumped  over,  and  even  a  pretty  steep 
wall  to  be  climbed. 

Remmy  Carroll,  who  knew  that  they  would  thus- 
return  home,  had  followed  the  maidens  afar  off, — 
sighing  to  think,  as  they  crossed  the  stiles,  with  a 
world  of  gentle  laughter,  that  he  must  not  dare  tO' 
think  of  proffering  them  any  assistance.  With 
all  his  love — ^perhaps,  indeed,  because  of  it — he  had 
hitherto  been  careful  to  avoid  the  chance  of  even  a 
casual  notice  from  the  subject  of  his  untold  passion. 
She  was  wealthy,  he  was  poor ;  and,  therefore,  he 
shrunk  from  the  object  of  his  unuttered  passion. 
Her  feelings  towards  him  at  this  time  were  rather 
kind  than  otherwise.  She  knew,  what  all  the  parish 
were  unacquainted  with,  that  Remmy  devoted  the- 
greater  portion  of  his  earnings,  not  only  to  the  sup- 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  87 

port  of  a  bed-ridden  old  aunt,  who  had  neither  kita 
nor  kin  save  himself  in  the  wide  world,  but  evei^  to 
the  procuring  for  her  what  might  be  esteemed  rather 
as  luxuries  than  mere  comforts.  Whatever  might 
be  the  deficiencies  in  Remmj  Carroll's  wardrobe,  his 
old  aunt  never  went  without  "the  raking  cup  of  tay" 
morning  and  evening.  Was  it  because  she  had  no- 
ticed how  carefully  Remmy  Carroll  avoided  her,  that 
the  bright  eyes  of  Mary  Mahony  rested  upon  him 
with  some  degree  of  interest,  and  that  she  even  liked 
to  listen  to  and  encourage  her  father's  praises  of  his 
conduct  towards  his  aged  relative,  for  whose  com- 
fortable support  he  sacrificed  dress — ^the  natural  vent 
for  youthful  vanity  in  both  sexes  ? 

Mary  and  her  merry  cousin  went  on,  through  the 
fields,  until  they  reached  the  most  difficult  pass. 
This  was  a  deep  chasm  separating  two  meadows. 
A  deep  and  rapid  stream  flowed  through  the  abyss, 
wliirlingly  pouring  its  strong  current  into  the  Black- 
water,  The  maidens  lightly  and  laughingly  tripped 
down  llie  steps  which  were  rudely  cut  on  the  side  of 
the  chasm.  It  was  but  a  quick,  short  jump  across 
Hark  I — a  sudden  shriek !  He  cleared  the  ""-alt  at  » 
bound — ^he  dashed  across  the  meadow — in  one  min- 
ute he  was  plunging  down  the  abyss.  He  saw  that 
Mary's  cousin  had  safely  reached  the  other  side, 
where  she  stood  uselessly  wringing  her  h^r-d.-',  and 
ecreani'.Tig  in  an  agony  of  despair,  while  Marv  ('pre- 
cipitatr']  into  the  deep  and  swollen  stream,  ner  foot 


88  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

having  slipped)  was  in  the  act  of  being  hurried  into 
the  eddies  of  the  Blackwater.  There  was  no  tinia 
for  delay.  He  plunged  into  the  stream,  dived  for 
the  body,  which  had  just  then  sunk  again,  and,  ir 
less  ti:ue  than  I  have  taken  to  tell  it,  had  placed  his 
insensible  but  still  lovely  treasure  trove  on  the  banic 
which  ne  just  quitted.  The  other  maiden  no  sooner 
saw  that  her  cousin  had  been  rescued  than — accord- 
ing to  womanly  custom  in  such  cases,  I  presume — 
she  immediately  swooned  away,  leaving  poor  Eemmj* 
to  take  care  of  Mary  Mahony, 

With  the  gentlest  care  he  could  employ,  he 
exened  his  best  skill  to  restore  her,  and,  in  a  shurt 
time,  had  the  Inexpressible  delight  of  seeing  her 
open  ter  eyes.  It  was  but  for  a  moment;  she 
glanced  wildly  around,  and  again  closed  them 
Soon  the  bloom  returned  to  her  cheek — and  now  sne 
teit,  though  she  saw  not,  tha,t  she  lay  supportea  m 
•ne  amis  of  Remmy  Carroll ;  for,  as  he  leant  over 
ner,  and  her  breathing  came  softly  and  balmily 
»5f.'On  his  face,  his  lips  involuntarily  were  pressed  to 
\\,n:<s^  OT--^  the  maiden,  through  whose  frame  thai 
';tOxox.  cinorctce  thrilled,  with  a  new  and  bewildering 
sensation,  might  be  forgiven,  if,  at  that  moment,  she 
intuitively  knew  who  had  thus  brushed  the  dewy 
oiv^eetness  from  her  lips ;  might  be  forgiven,  if,  S-om 
that  epoch,  there  gushed  into  her  heart  a  feeling 
more  kind,  more  deep,  more  pervading,  than  ordi- 
nary gratitude. 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER"  89 

By  this  time,  the  pretty  cousin  had  thought  proper 
io  recover ;  nor  has  it  yet  been  accurately  ascertained 
"whether,  indeed,  she  had  or  had  not  beheld  the  os- 
cular proceeding  which  I  have  mentioned.  Now, 
however,  she  hastened  to  pay  the  feminine  attentions, 
more  suitable  to  the  situation  of  a  half-drowned 
young  lady,  than  those  which  Remmy  Carroll  had 
attempted  to  bestow.  He  had  the  satisfaction,  how- 
ever, of  carefully  taking  Mary  Mahony  across  the 
stream  in  his  arms.  Nay,  before  he  departed,  she 
had  softly  whispered  her  gratitude ;  and  in  her  tone 
and  manner,  there  was  that  which  breathed  hope  to 
him,  even  against  hope.  Though  he  quitted  them, 
he  loitered  about  while  they  remained  in  sight,  and 
just  as  Mary  Mahony  was  vanishing  through  the 
stile  which  opened  into  her  father's  lands,  she  turned 
round,  saw  her  deliverer  watching  her  at  a  distance, 
and  she  kissed  her  hand  to  him  as  she  withdrew. 

From  that  hour  the  current  of  his  life  flowed  on 
with  a  fresher  bound — the  fountain  of  hope  welled 
out  its  sparkling  Avaters,  for- the  first  time,  from  its 
depths.  To  the  world — to  no  living  soul,  would  he 
have  dared  to  avow  his  new-born  feeling,  that  Mary 
Mahony  might  one  day  be  his  own.  Within  his 
heart  of  hearts  it  lay,  and  with  it  was  the  conscious- 
ness, that  to  win  her  he  must  merit  her.  How^  he 
knew  not ;  but  the  resolve  is  much. 

Three  months  glided  on.  Carroll  continued  to 
pursue  his  calling  as  a  music-maker,  and  not  a  wed- 


yO  BITS   OF  BLAENEY. 

ding  nor  christening  passed  by,  or,  indeed,  could 
pass  by,  without  the  assistance  of  his  "professional'^ 
powers.  But  he  now  became  wJiat  a  young  and  gay 
Irishman  seldom  is — a  hoarder  of  his  earnings.  He 
laid  aside  much  of  the  wild  and  reckless  mirth  whick 
had  made  him,  despite  his  poverty,  the  king  of  good 
fellows.  Eemmy  was,  in  many  respects,  above  the 
generality  of  his  class ;  for  he  had  got  a  tolerably 
good  education ;  he  was  quick  at  repartee,  and  not 
without  a  certain  manly  grace  of  manner ;  his  con- 
versation was  never  garnished  with  expletives ;  he 
had  a  good  voice,  and  could  sing  with  considerable- 
effect  ;  he  was  an  adept  in  fairy  lore  and  romantic 
legends ;  and  he  was  accustomed  to  retail  news  from 
the  newspapers  to  a  wondering  auditory,  so  that  the 
marvel  was  how  he  could  be  "  such  a  janius  entirely." 
Hence  his  popularity  with  all  classes.  But  now,  as 
I  have  said,  he  laid  aside  all  mirth  that  might  in- 
volve outlay.  His  manners  became  sedate,  almost 
grave, — nay,  if  we  dared  to  apply  such  high  words 
to  a  man  of  such  low  degree  as  an  Irish  piper,  it 
might  be  added,  that  a  certain  degree  of  quiet  dignity 
became  blended  with  his  speech  and  actions.  Like 
the  Avedding  guest  described  by  Coleridge,  he 
seemed  "  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man."  Such  a  change 
could  not  pass  unobserved,  and  while  one-half  the 
circle  of  his  acquaintance  shook  their  heads,  and 
ominously  whispered,  "Sure  the  boy  must  be  fairy- 
struck,"  the  fairer  moiety  suggested  that  the  altera- 


THE    PETRIFIED   PIPER.  9t 

tion  lua^t  haTc  "been  produced  by  Love,  ttough 
even  lueir  oagcicitj  and  observation  failed  to  ascer- 
Uun  tne  object  of  his  passion. 


CHAPTER   III. 
HUW   THE   PIPER  GOT   OX  WITH  MARY  JIAHONY. 

I'HE  aim  and  the  result  of  Remmy  Carroll's^ 
ne^^•Iy-acqui^ed  habits  of  economy  and  self-denial 
became  evident,  at  length,  when  his  appearance, 
one  Sunday,  in  the  Chapel  of  Fermoy — it  was  the 
Old  Chapel,  with  mud  walls  and  a  thatched  roo£ 
which  stood  in  that  part  of  Cork  Hill  whence  now 
diverges  the  narrow  passage  called  Waterloo  Lane — 
caused  a  most  uncommon  sensation.  It  was  Remmy's- 
first  appearance,  on  any  stage,  in  the  character  of  a 
country-beau.  His  ancient  coat  was  put  into  Schedule 
A  (like  certain  pocket-boroughs  in  the  Reform  Bill),, 
and  was  replaced  by  a  garment  from  the  tasty  hands 
of  Dandy  Cash,  at  that  time  the  Stultz  of  Fermoj 
and  its  vicinity.  This  was  a  broad-skirted  coat  o: 
blue  broadcloth,  delicately  embellished  with  the  bril- 
liancy of  shining  gilt  buttons,  each  not  much  larger 
than  H  lialf-dollar.  A  vest  of  bright  yellow  kersey- 
mere, Avith  a  double-row  of  plump  mother-of-pear- 
studs ;  a  new  pair  of  closely-fitting  unmentionablea, 


BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

■will]  a  liberal  allowance  of  drab  ribbons  pensile  «z 
Ine  Ic'iees:  gray  worsted  stockings,  of  the  rig- and- 
furrow  sort,  displaying  the  muscular  calf  and  the 
arched  instep ;  neat  pumps,  with  soles  not  quite 
half  an  inch  thick,  and  the  uppers  made  "elegant" 
b}'  tne  joint  appliances  of  lampblack  and  grease 
■(considered  to  nourish  the  leather  much  better  than 
~"  Warren's  jet  blacking,  the  pride  of  mankind") ; — 
^  well-fittiig  shirt  of  fine  bandle-linen,  bleached  to 
■an  exquisite  whiteness,  and  universally  looked  upon 
-as  a  noli  me  tangere  of  provincial  buckism,  with  a  silk 
grinder  "round  his  nate  neck,"  and  a  tall  Carlisle  hat, 
encircled  with  an  inch-wide  ribbon — such  were  the 
■component  parts  of  Remmy  Carroll's  new  costume. 
True  it  is,  that  he  left  a  little  too  much  to  the  taste 
of  Dandy  Cash,  the  dogmatic  and  singularly  conceited 
Snip ;  but  still,  Nature  had  done  so  much  for  him 
that  he  appeared  quite  a  new  man,  the  handsomest 
of  the  whole  congregation,  gentle  or  simple,  and  many 
a  bright  glance  fell  upon  him  admiringly,  from  eyes 
which  had  looked  scorn  at  his  chrysalis  condition; 
and  not  a  few  fair  bosoms  fluttered  at  the  thought, 

what  a  fine,  handsome,  likely  boy  is  Remmy  Car- 
roll, now  that  he  is  dressed  dacent."  He  wa5  not  the 
first  man  whose  qualifications  have  remained  unac- 
knowledged until  such  an  accident  as  fine  apparel 
has  brought  them  into  notice. 

Mary  Mahony  was  at  Chapel  on  that  Sunday  when 
€lemmy  Carroll  shone  out,  like  the  sun  emerging  from 


THE   PJETKIFIED   PIPER.  93« 

behind  a  rack  of  heavy  clouds.  A  casual  ooker-on 
might  have  fancied  that  she  was  one  of  the  very  few 
who  did  not  mind  Eemmy  Carroll.  Indeed,  she- 
rather  huag  down  her  head,  as  she  passed  him, — 
but  that  mioht  have  been  to  hide  the  blushes  which 
suffused  her  face  when  she  met  his  eye.  Her  father, 
a  kind-hearted  man,  who  had  a  cordial  salute  for 
every  friend,  insisted  that  they  should  not  hurry 
away  without  speaking  to  the  piper.  Accordingly, 
they  loit<3red  until  nearly  all  the  congregation  had 
left  tlie  chapel,  and,  among  the  last,  Remmy  Carroll 
was  quietly  stealing  away.  Bartle  Mahony  accosted 
him,  with  a  hearty  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  warmly 
thanked  him  for  having  saved  Mary's  life,  adding, 
"It  is  not  until  now  I'd  be  waiting  to  thank  you, 
man-alive,  but  Mary  never  let  me  know  the  danger 
she'd  been  in,  until  this  blessed  morn,  when  her 
cousin,  Nancy  Doyle,  made  me  sensible  of  the  ins 
and  outs  of  the  accident.  But  I  do  thank  you. 
Remmy,  and  'twill  go  hard  with  me  if  I  don't  find 
a  better  way  of  showing  it  than  by  words,  which 
are  only  breath,  as  one  may  say." 

Then  Bartle  Mahony  slapped  Remmy  on  the  back, 
in  a  familiar  manner,  and  insisted  that  he  should 
walk  home  with  them  and  take  share  of  their  dinner. 
"  Don't  hang  down  your  head  like  a  girl,  but  tuck 
Mary  under  your  arm,  and  off  to  Carrigabrick,  where 
I  follow  in  less  than  no  time,  with  the  heartiest  of 


"94  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

welcomes.     Don't  dawdle  there,  man-alive,  liie  a 
,^oose,  but  walk  off  like  a  man." 

So  through  the  town  of  Fermoy  did  Mary  Ma 
honj'  walk  with  Reramy  Carroll — down  Cork  Hill 
and  King-street,  and  across  the  Square,  and  along 
Artillery-quay,  and  by  Skelhorne's  paper-mill,  and 
Heid's  flour-mill,  and  then,  on  the  Inches,  by  the 
31ackwater.  History  has  not  recorded  whether 
Mary  did  actually  take  Remmy's  arm — but  it  is 
•conjectured  that  he  was  too  shy  to  offer  it,  deeming 
ihat  too  great  a  Uberty — ^but  it  is  said  that  it  was  she 
who  took  the  field-route  to  Carrigabrick,  and,  though 
she  blushed  deeply  the  while,  she  did  not  make  any 
very  violent  objection  to  his  taking  her  in  his  arms 
across  that  chasm,  the  passage  of  which,  on  a  former 
day,  had  so  nearly  proved  fatal  to  her.  If  I  said 
that,  while  performing  this  pleasant  duty,  Remmy 
Carroll  did  not  press  her  to  his  heart,  I  am  pretty 
sure  that  no  one  would  believe  me.  Well,  then, 
there  was  this  gentle  pressure,  but  of  course  Mary 
Mahony  believed  he  could  not  help  it. — Do  3'ou 
think  he  could  ? 

They  proceeded  to  Carrigabrick,  but  the  short  cut 
through  the  fields  proved  the  longest  way  round  on 
this  occasion.  Bartle  Mahony  had  reached  the 
house  fally  half  an  hour  before  they  did,  and  yet  he 
had  gone  by  the  road,  which,  as  every  one  knows, 
is  nearly  a  mile  round.  They  had  exchanged  few 
iwords  during  their  walk ;  it  was  not  quite  the  lady's 


THE   PETRIFIED    PIPER.  95 

place  to  make  conversation,  and  Eemmy's  thoughts 
were  all  too  deep  for  utterance.  In  the  earlier  stage 
of  love,  passion  is  contemplative,  and  silence  often 
has  an  eloquence  of  its  own. 

E^mmy  Carroll  had  the  good  fortune  to  win  the 
particular  favor  of  Mr.  Bartle  Mahony,  who,  as  he 
was  retiring  to  rest,  kissed  his  fair  child,  as  usual, 
and  emphatically  declared  that  Eemmy  Carroll  was 
"  a  real  decent  fellow,  and  no  humbug  about  him.'' 
lie  added,  that  as  he  had  found  his  way  to  theb- 
hearth,  he  must  be  a  stranger  no  mere.  And  it 
■came  to  pass,  thenceforth,  somehow  or  other,  that 
Kemmy  paid  a  visit  to  Carrigabrick  twice  or  thrice  a 
week.  These  visits  were  ostensibly  to  Mr.  Mahony, 
but  it  usually  happened  that  Eemmy  had  also  a 
glimpse  of  Mary,  and  sometimes  a  word  or  two  with 
her.  It  came  to  pass  that  Bartle  Mahony,  at  length, 
fimcied  that  a  dull  day  in  which  he  did  not  see  his 
friend  Eemmy.  Finally,  as  by  a  great  effort  of  in- 
genuity, and  in  order  to  have  a  legitimate  excuse  for 
having  his  favorite  frequently  with  him,  Bartle 
Mahony  announced  his  sovereign  will  and  pleasure 
that  Mary  should  learn  music.  Accordingly,  when 
Eemmy  next  came,  he  communicated  this  intention 
to  him  in  a  very  dignified  manner,  and  appointed 
Eemmy  forthwith  to  commence  instructing  her.  But 
Eemmy  could  play  only  upon  one  instrument,  and 
the  pipes  happen  to  be  so  unfeminine,  that  he  ven- 
tured to  doubt  whether  the  young  lady  would  quite 


96  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

approve  of  tlie  proposition.  Having  hinted  this^ 
difficulty  to  Bartle  Mahonj,  that  worthy  was  im- 
pressed with  its  force,  but,  rather  than  relinquish  his 
project,  declared  that,  all  things  considered,  ha 
thought  it  best  that  he  himself  should  be  the  musical 
tyro. 

If  the  truth  were  known,  it  would  have  appeared 
that  the  poor  man  had  no  desire  to  learn,  and  cer- 
tainly no  taste.  But  as  Kemmy  Carroll,  proud  as  her 
was  poor,  had  peremptorily  refused  the  money 
offered  as  a  substantial  mark  of  gratitude  for  having 
saved  Mary  ^lahony's  life,  this  was  her  father's  in- 
direct and  rather  clum'sy  mode  of  rewarding  him. 
Yery  magnificent  were  the  terms  which  he  insisted, 
on  making  with  the  piper:  he  could  have  been, 
taught  flute,  harp,  violin,  psaltery,  sackbut,  and 
piano  at  less  cost.  Very  little  progress  did  the  kind 
old  man  make,  but  he  laughed  soonest  and  loudest 
at  his  own  dulness  and  discords.  However,  if  the 
pupil  did  not  make  good  use  of  his  time,  the  teacher 
did.  Before  the  end  of  the  first  quarter,  Mary 
Mahony  had  half  confessed  to  her  own  heart  with 
what  aptitude  she  had  involuntarily  taken  lessons  in 
the  art  of  love. 

It  would  make  a  much  longer  story  than  I  have 
the  conscience  to  inflict  upon  you,  to  tell  how  Mary 
Mahony  came  to  fall  in  love  with  Eemmy  Carroll — 
for  fall  in  love  she  certainly  did.  Perhaps  it  was 
out  of -gratitude.     Perhaps  it  might  haee  been  his 


THE    PETRIFIED    PIPER.  97 

fine  person  and  handsome  face.  Perhaps,  because 
she  heard  every  girl  of  her  acquaintance  praise  him. 
Perhaps,  because  he  was  her  father's  favorite.  Per- 
haps, because  they  were  so  constantly  thrown  to- 
gether, and  he  was  the  only  young  man  with  whom 
she  frequently  associated.  Perhaps  she  loved  him, 
because  she  could  not  help  it.  Why  strive  to  find 
a  reason  for  woman's  love?  It  is  like  a  mighty 
river  springing  up  one  knows  not  where — augmented 
one  knows  not  hoAV — ever  sweeping  onward,  some- 
tunes  smoothly,  sometimes  in  awful  rapids,  and 
bearing  on  its  deep  and  constant  current,  amid  weeds 
and  flowers,  rocks  and  sands,  many  a  precious 
freight  of  hope  and  heart,  of  life  and  love. 

Fathers  and  husbands  are  so  proverbially  the  very 
last  to  see  the  progress  which  Love  clandestinely 
makes  under  their  roof,  that  it  will  not  be  considered 
a  special  miracle,  if  Bartle  Mahony  noticed  nothing 
of  the  game  which  was  in  hand  —  hearts  being 
trumps  !  Mary's  merry  cousin,  Nancy  Doyle, 
quietly  smiled  at  the  flirtation,  as  "fine  fun,"  but 
did  not  seriously  see  why  it  should  not  end  in  a 
wedding,  as  Mary  had  fortune  enough  for  both. 

Winter  passed  away,  and  Spring  waved  her  flag 
of  emerald  over  the  rejoicing  world.  Mary  Mahony 
was  walking  in  one  of  her  father's  meadows,  for 
Remmy  Carroll  was  expected,  and  he  was  now — 
though  she  blushed  with  a  soft  consciousness — the 
very  pole-star  of  her  constant  thought.  He  came 
5 


98  BITS    OF   BLARNEY. 

up,  and  was  welcome  I  with  as  sweet  a  sm  le  as  ever 
soattered  sunshine  over  the  human  heart.  They 
walked  side  by  side  for  a  little  time,  and  then,  when 
the  continued  silence  became  awkward,  Eemmy 
stated,  for  the  maiden's  information,  what  she  knew 
very  well  before,  that  it  was  very  fine  weather. 

"  True  for  you,  Remmy,"  answered  she :  "  see 
how  beautiful  everything  looks.  The  sunbeams 
fall  upon  the  meadow  in  a  soft  shower  of  light,  and 
make  the  very  grass  look  glad." 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  said  Remmy,  with  a  sigh,  "  but 
I  have  too  heavy  a  heart  to  look  upon  these  things 
as  you  do." 

"  Surely,"  inquired  Mary,  "  surely  you've  no  real 
cause  to  say  that?  Have  you  heard  any  bad 
news?" 

"  No  cause !"  and  here  the  pent-up  feelings  of  his 
heart  found  utterance  :  "  Is  it  no  cause  ? — Oh,  Mary 
dear — ^for  you  are  dear  to  me,  and  I  may  say  it  now, 
for  may  be  I  may  never  be  here  to  say  it  again — is 
it  no  cause  to  have  a  heavy  heart,  when  I  have  no- 
body in  this  wide  world  that  I  can  speak  to  about 
her  that's  the  very  life  of  my  life,  while  I  know  that 
I  am  nothing  to  her,  but  one  that  she  sees  to-day 
and  will  forget  to-morrow  f  Is  it  no  cause,  when  I 
know  that  the  little  linnet  that's  now  singing  on 
that  bough,  has  as  much  chance  of  becoming  an 
eagle,  as  I  have  of  being  thought  lovingly  of  by  the 
one  that  I  love  ?     Haven't  I  cause  to  be  of  a  heavy 


THE   PETKIFIED   PIPER.  9» 

fceart,  knowing  that  I  would  be  regar("ed  no  more 
than  that  little  bird,  if  I  were  to  try  and  fly  beyond 
the  state  I'm  in,  when  I  know  that  I  am  not  many 
removes  from  a  beggar,  and  have  been  for  months 
•dreaming  away  as  if  I  was  your  equal?  You  are 
Jvind  and  gentle,  and  when  I  am  far  away,  perhaps 
you  may  think  that  I  would  have  tried  to  deserve 
jon  if  I  could,  and  then  think  well  of  one  who 
loves  you  better  than  he  loves  himself.  Oh,  Mary 
!N[ahony !  may  God's  blessing  rest  upon  you,  and 
Iceep  you  from  ever  knowing  what  it  is  to  love 
"V\'ithout  hope." 

Overcome  by  his  emotion — aye,  even  to  tears, 
"which  flowed  down  his  comely  cheeks — poor  Kemmy 
suddenly  stopped.  Mary  Mahony,  surprised  at  the 
unexpected  but  not  quite  unpleasing  matter  of  his 
address,  knew  not,  for  a  brief  space,  w'hat  answer 
to  make.  But  she  was  a  woman — a  young  and  lov- 
ing one — so  she  let  her  heart  speak  from  its  fulness. 

"  May-be,"  said  she,  with  a  blush,  which  made 
lier  look  more  beautiful  than  ever, — "  may-be,  tis  a 
foolish  thing,  Remmy,  to  love  without  hoping;"  and 
-she  looked  at  him  with  an  expressive  smile,  which, 
unfortunately,  he  was  unable  to  distinguish  through 
the  tears  which  were  now  chasing  each  other  down 
his  face,  as  round  and  nearly  as  large  as  rosary- 
beads. 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  he  said,  not  perceiving  the  na- 
ture of  her  words;  "it's  of  no  use  trying  to  banish 


100  BITS  6f  blarxet. 

jou  from  my  mind.  I've  put  a  penance  on  mysel*. 
for  daring  to  think  of  yon,  and  it's  all  of  no  use.. 
The  more  I  try  not  to  think,  the  more  I  find  my 
thoughts  upon  you.  I  try  to  forget  you,  af?d  as  I 
walk  in  the  fields,  by  day,  you  come  into  my  mind,, 
and  when  I  sleep  at  night  you  come  into  my  dreams. 
Wherever  I  am,  or  whatever  I  do,  you  are  beside 
me,  with  a  kind,  sweet  smile.  Every  morning  of 
my  life,  I  make  a  promise  to  my  heart  that  I  will 
never  again  come  here  to  look  upon  that  smile,  far 
too  sweet  and  too  kind  for  such  as  me,  and  yet  my 
steps  tarn  towards  you  before  the  day  is  done.  But. 
it'.,  all  of  no  use.  I  must  quit  the  place  altogether.. 
I  will  go  for  a  soldier,  and  if  I  am  killed  in  battle, 
as  I  hope  I  may  be,  they  will  find  your  name,  Mary, 
written  on  my  heart." 

To  a  maid  who  loved  as  well  as  Mary  Mahony^ 
did,  there  was  a  touching  pathos  in  the  simple- 
earnestness  of  this  confession ; — aye,,  and  eloquence,, 
too,  for  surely  truth  is  the  living  spirit  of  eloquence. 
How  long  she  might  have  been  inclined  to  play  the 
coquette  I  cannot  resolve,  but  the  idea  of  her  lover's- 
leaving  her  put  all  finesse  to  flight,  and  she  said,  in 
a  low  tone,  which  yet  found  an  echo,  and  made  a 
memory  in  his  heart :  "  Remmy !  dear  Remmy,  you 
must  not  leave  me.  If  you  go,  my  heart  goes  with 
70U,  for  I  like  you,  poor  as  you  are,  better  than  the' 
richest  lord  in  the  land,  with  his  OAvn  weight  of  gold 
and  jewels  on  his  back." 


THE   PETJUFIED   PIPER.  101 

What  more  she  might  have  said  puzzles  conjec- 
ture— for  these  welcome  words  were  scarcely  spoken, 
■when  all  further  speech  was  arrested  by  an  ardent 
kiss  from  Remni}^.  Oh !  the  first,  fond  kiss  of  mu- 
tual love !  what  is  there  of  earth  with  so  much  of 
the  soft  and  gentle  balm  of  heaven  ? 

There  they  stood,  by  the  ruins  of  that  old  castle, 
the  world  all  forgot.  There  they  whispered,  each  to 
'each,  that  deep  passion  with  which  they  had  so  long 
been  heart-full.  The  maiden  had  gentle  sighs  and 
pleasant  tears  —  but  these  last,  Eemmy  gallantly 
kissed  away.  Very  wrong,  no  doubt,  for  her  to 
liave  permitted  him  to  do  so,  and,  in  truth,  she 
fiometimes  exhibited  a  shadow  of  resistance.  There 
was,  in  sooth, 

"  A  world  of  whispers,  mixed  with  low  response, 
Sweet,  short,  and  broken,  as  divided  strains 
Of  nightingales." 

"And  you  won't  think  the  worse  of  me,  Kemmy, 
for  being  so  foolish  as  to  confess  how  I  love  you?" 

"Is  it  me,  life  of  my  heart?  not  unless  you  say 
that  it  was  foolish  to  love  me.  Sure,  they  were  the 
happiest  words  I  ever  heard." 

"And  you  will  love  me  always,  even  as  now?" 

"Ah,  Mary,  I  see  that  you  are  joking  now." 

"And  you  won't  go  as  a  soldier?" 

"Not  I,  darling;  let  those  who  have  heavy  hearts, 
and  DO  hope,  do  that  same." 


102  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

Much  more  was  spoken,  uo  doubt.  Very  tender 
confessions  and  confidences,  in  truth,  wliicli  I  care 
not  to  repeat,  for  such  are  of  the  bright  holidays  of 
youth  and  love,  and  scarcely  bear  to  be  reported  as- 
closely  as  an  oration  in  the  Senate,  or  a  lawyer's- 
harangue  at  Nisi  Prius,  in  a  case  of  Breach  of  Promise. 
Such  tender  confessions  and  confidences  resemble: 
those  eastern  flowers  which  have  a  sweet  perfume 
on  the  sod  to  which  they  are  native,  but  lose  the- 
fragrance  if  you  remove  them  to  another  clime. 

At  last,  with  many  a  hngering  "one  word  more," 
many  a  gentle  pressure  of  the  hands,  and  several 
very  decided  symptoms,  belonging  to  the  genus 
"kiss,"  in  the  sweet  botany  of  love,  Mary  and 
Remmy  parted.  Happy,  sweetly  and  sadly  happy 
(for  deep  love  is  meditative,  rather  than  joyful),, 
Mary  Mahony  returned  home.  She  hastened  to  that 
apartment  peculiarly  called  her  own,  threw  herself 
on  the  bed,  and  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  tears,  for 
it  is  not  Sorrow  alone  that  seeks  relief  in  tears, — 
they  fall  for  hope  fulfilled  as  truly,  though  less  often^ 
as  for  hope  deferred.  Weep  on,  gentle  girl,  weep  in. 
joy,  while  you  can.  Close  at  hand  is  the  hour  in 
which,  ere  you  have  done  more  than  taste  it,  the- 
sparkling  draught  of  happiness  may  be  snatched 
from  your  Ups. 


THE   PETBiriED   PIPER.  103 

CHAPTER    IV. 

HOW   THE   PIPER  BECAME  A  PETRIFACTION. 

i^  LIKE  delighted  and  surprised  at  thus  finding  Mary 
Mahony  a  sharer  in  the  emotions  which  so  wildly  filled 
his  own  heart,  Remmy  Carroll  returned  to  Fennoy, 
in  that  particular  mood  which  is  best  denoted  by 
the  topsy-turvy  description  —  "he  did  not  knov 
whether  he  stood  upon  his  head  or  his  heels."  He 
rested  until  evening  at  a  friend's,  and  was  not  un 
willing  to  have  some  hours  of  quiet  thought  before 
he  again  committed  himself  to  commerce  with  the 
busy  world.  About  dusk,  he  started  with  his  friend 
for  a  farmer's,  on  the  Rathcormac  side  of  Corran 
Thiema,  where  there  was  to  be  a  wedding  that 
night,  at  which  Remmy  and  his  pipes  would  be  al- 
most as  indispensable  as  the  priest  and  the  bride- 
groom. 

As  they  were  passing  on  the  mountain's  base, 
taking  the  soft  path  on  the  turf,  as  more  pleasant 
than  the  dusty  highway,  a  little  lower  down,  Remmy 
suddenly  stopped. 

"There's  music  somewhere  about  here,"  said  he, 
listening. 

"May-be  it's  only  a  singing  in  your  head,"  ob- 
served   Pat  Minahan.      I've  known    such  things, 


104  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

'specially  if  one  h.ad  been  taking  a  drop  extra  over- 
night." 

"  Husli !"  said  Eemmy,  "  I  hear  it  again  as  dis- 
tinctly as  ever  I  heard  the  sound  of  my  own  pipes. 
There  'tis  again:  how  it  sinks  and  swells  on  the 
evening  breeze !" 

Minahan  paused  and  listened.  "Sure  enough, 
then,  there  is  music  in  the  air.  Oh,  Renimy  Car- 
roll, 'tis  you  are  the  lucky  boy,  for  this  must  be 
fairy  music,  and  'tis  said  that  whoever  hears  it  first, 
as  you  did,  is  surely  born  to  good  luck." 

"  Never  mind  the  luck,"  said  Rsmmy,  with  a 
laugh.  "There's  the  fairy  ring  above  there,  and 
I'll  be  bound  that's  the  place  it  comes  from.  There's 
fox-glove,  you  see,  that  makes  night-caps  for  them ; 
and, there's  heath-bells  that  they  have  for  drinking- 
cups ;  and  there's  sorrell  that  they  have  for  tables, 
when  the  mushrooms  aren't  in  ;  and  there's  the  green 
grass  within  the  ring,  as  smooth  as  your  hand,  and 
as  soft  as  velvet,  for  'tis  worn  down  by  their  little 
feet  when  they  dance  in  the  clear  light  of  the  full 
moon.  I  am  sure  the  music  came  from  that  fairy-ring." 

"May-be  it  does,"  replied  Minahan,  "and  may-be 
it  doesn't.  K  you  please,  I'd  rather  move  on,  than 
stand  here  like  a  pillar  of  salt,  for  'tis  getting  dark, 
and  fairies  aren't  exactly  the  sort  of  people  I'd  like 
to  meet  in  a  lonely  place.  'Twas  somewhere  about 
here,  if  I  remember  right,  that  Phil  Connor,  the 
piper,  hr.d  a  trial  of  skill  w^th  the  fairies,  as  to  who'd 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  105 

play  best,  and  thej  turned  him  into  stone,  pipes  and 
all.  It  happened,  Eemray,  before  your  father  came 
to  these  parts, — but,  surely  you  heard  of  it  before 
now?" 

"  Not  I,"  said  Eemmy ;  "  and  if  I  did,  I  wouldn't 
heed  it." 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  his  companion,  with  an  ominous 
shake  of  the  head  at  Eemmy 's  incredulity,  "it's  all 
as  true  as  that  you're  alive  and  kicking  at  this 
blessed  moment.  I  heard  my  mother  tell  it  when  I 
was  a  boy,  and  she  had  the  whole  of  it  from  her 
aunt's  cousin's  son,  who  learned  the  ins  and  outs  of 
the  story  from  a  faymale  friend  of  his,  who  had  it  on 
the  very  best  authority.  Phil  Connor  was  a  piper, 
and  a  mighty  fine  player  entirely.  As  he  was  com- 
ing home  from  a  wedding  at  Rathcormac,  one  fine 
moonshiny  night,  who  should  come  right  forenenst 
him,  on  this  very  same  mountain,  but  a  whole 
"bundle  of  the  fairies,  singing,  and  skipping,  and  dis- 
■coursing  like  any  other  Christians.  So,  they  up  and 
axed  him,  in  the  civilest  way  they  could,  if  he'd 
-favor  them  with  a  planxty  on  his  pipes.  Now,  let- 
ting alone  that  Phil  was  as  brave  as  a  lion,  and 
would  not  mind  facing  even  an  angry  woman,  Igt 
tdone  a  bat<5h  of  hop-o'-my-thumb  fairies,  he  never 
had  the  heart  to  say  no  when  he  was  civilly  axed 
to  do  anything. 

"So  Phil  said  he'd  oblige  them,  with  all  the  veins 
<rf'  his  heart.     With  that,  he  struck  up  that  fine. 


106  BITS   OF   BLARXE"i. 

ancient  ould  tune,  'The  Fox-hunter's  Jig.'  And^ 
to  be  sure  and  t-artain,  Phil  was  the  lad  that  could; 
play : — no  offence  to  you,  Remmy,  who  are  to  the^ 
fore.  The  moment  the  fairies  heard  it,  they  all  be- 
gan to  caper,  and  danced  here  and  there,  backward 
and  forward,  to  and  fro,  just  like  the  motes  you  see- 
dancing  in  the  sunbeams,  between  you  and  the  light. 
At  last,  Phil  stopped,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  they 
gathered  round  him,  the  craturs,  and  asked  him  why 
he  did  not  go  on  ?  And  he  told  them  that  'twas 
dying  with  the  drought  he  was,  and  that  he  must 
have  something  to  wet  his  whistle  : — which  same  is 
only  fair,  particularly  as  far  as  pipers  is  concerned. 

"  'To  be  sure,'  said  a  knowledgeable  ould  fairy,, 
that  seemed  king  of  them  all,  '  it's  but  reasonable 
the  boy  is ;  get  a  cup  to  comfort  him,  the  dacent 
gossoon.'  So  they  handed  Pliil  one  of  the  fairy's- 
fingers  full  of  something  that  had  a  mighty  pleasant 
smell,  and  they  filled  a  hare-bell  cup  of  the  same  for 
the  king.  '  Take  it,  me  man,'  said  the  ould  fairy,. 
*  there  isn't  a  headache  in  a  hogshead  of  it.  I  war- 
rant  that  a  guager's  rod  has  never  come  near  it^ 
'Twas  made  in  Araglyn,  out  of  mountain  barley, — 
none  of  your  taxed  Parliament  stuff,  but  real  Queen's 
'lixir.'  Well,  %vith  that  he  drank  to  Phil,  and  Phil 
raised  the  little  dawny  measure  to  his  lips,  and,, 
though  it  was  not  the  size  of  a  thimble,  he  drank  at 
laste  a  pint  of  spirits  from  it,  andT  when  he  took  it. 
away  from  his  lips,  that  I  mightn't,  if  'twasn't  as  full 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  lOT 

as  'twas  at  first.  Faith,  it  gave  Phil  the  boldness  of 
a  lion,  that  it  did,  and  made  him  so  that  he'd  do- 
anything.  And  what  was  it  the  omadhaun  did,  but 
challenge  the  whole  box  and  dice  of  the  fairies  to 
beat  him  at  playing  the  pipes.  Some  of  them, 
which  had  tender  hearts,  advised  him  not  to  try. 
But  the  more  they  tried  to  persuade  him,  the  more 
he  would  not  be  persuaded.  So,  as  a  wilful  maik 
must  have  his  way,  the  fairies'  piper  came  forward^ 
and  took  up  the  challenge.  Phil  and  he  played 
against  each  other  until  the  cock  crew,  when  the  lot. 
all  vanished  into  a  cave,  and  whipped  Phil  away 
with  them.  And,  because  they  were  downright 
mad,  at  last,  that  Phil  should  play  so  much  better 
than  their  own  musicianer,  they  changed  poor  Phil, 
out  of  spite,  into  a  stone  statute,  which  remains  in 
the  cave  to  this  very  day.  And  that's  what  hap- 
pened to  Phil  Connor  and  the  fairies." 

"  You've  made  a  pretty  story  of  it,"  said  Eemmy ;. 
"it's  only  a  pity  it  isn't  true." 

"  True !"  responded  Minahan,  with  tone  and 
action  of  indignation.  "What  have  you  to  say 
again  it  ?  It's  as  true  as  Eomilus  and  Ramus,  or  the 
Irish  Rogues  and  Rapparees,  or  the  History  of  Rey- 
nard, the  Fox,  and  Reynardine,  his  son,  or  any 
other  of  the  curious  little  books  that  people  do  be 
reading — that  is,  them  that  can  read,  for  diversion's- 
sake,  when  they've  got  nothing  else  to  do.  I  sup* 
pose  you'll  be  saving  next,  that  fairies  themselves- 


108  BITS   OF  BLARNEY, 

lain't  true  ?  That  I  mightn't,  Eemmy,  but  'twouldn't 
much  surprise  me  in  the  laste,  to  hear  you  say,  as 
Paddy  Sheehy,  the  schoolmaster,  says,  that  the  earth 
is  round,  like  an  orange,  and  that  people  do  be  walk- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  it,  with  their  heads  down- 
wards, and  their  feet  opposite  to  our  feet !" 

"  A nd  if  I  did  say  so?"  inquired  Remmy,  who — 
Ihanks  to  his  schooling  from  the  redoubtable  Tim 
Daly — happened  to  know  more  of  the  Antipodes 
"than  his  companion. 

*'  Faith,  Eemmy,  if  you  did  say  so,  I  know  one 
•that  would  misbelieve  you,  and  that's  my  own  self. 
JFor  it  stands  to  reason,  all  the  world  to  a  Chany 
■orange,  that  if  people  was  walking  on  the  other  side 
•of  the  world,  with  their  feet  upwards  and  their  heads 
■down,  they'd  be  sure  to  fall  off  before  one  could  say 
*  Jack  Robinson.' " 

To  such  admirable  reasoning  as  this,  Remmy 
•Carroll  saw  it  would  be  quite  useless  to  reply,  so  he 
allowed  Minahan  to  rejoice  in  the  advantage,  usually 
•claimed  by  a  female  disputant,  of  having  "the  last 
word." 

They  proceeded  to  the  farmer's,  Minahan,  as  they 
"went  along,  volunteering  a  variety  of  particulars  rel- 
ative to  the  Petrified  Piper — ^indulging,  indeed,  in 
such  minuteness  of  detail,  that  it  might  have  been 
"taken  for  granted  that  he  had,  personally,  seen  and 
'iieari  the  matters  he  described. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  Remmy  Carroll  was  but  a 


THE   PETIUFIKD   PIPER.  10 J' 

S03C  listener.  He  had  no  great  faith  in  fairies,  and 
his  mind  was  just  then  preoccupied  with  thoughts 
of  his  own  darling  Mary  Mahony.  At  last,  Mina- 
han's  conversation  ended,  for  they  had  reached  the- 
farmer's  house,  where  Eemmy  and  his  pipes  received 
the  very  warmest  of  welcomes. 

You  need  not  fear  that  I  have  any  intention  of: 
inflicting  a  description  of  the  marriage  upon  you.. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  evening  was  one  of 
thorough  enjoyment — Irish  enjoyment,  which  is  akin 
to  a  sort  of  mirthful  madness.  Perhaps  Remmy  was 
the  only  person  who  did  not  thoroughly  enter  into  the 
estro  of  the  hour,  for  though  successful  love  may  in 
toxicate  the  mind,  it  subdues  even  the  highest  spirits,, 
and  embarrasses  while  it  delights.  There  is  the  joy 
at  the  success — the  greater  if  it  has  been  unexpected 
— but  this  is  a  joy  more  concentrated  than  impulsive 
Its  seat  is  deep  within  the  heart,  and  there  it  luxu- 
riates, but  it  does  not  breathe  its  secret  to  the  world, — 
it  keeps  its  treasure  all  to  itself,  at  first,  a  thing  to  be 
thought  of  and  exulted  over  privily.  Love,  when 
successful,  has  a  compelling  power  which  subdues  all 
other  feelings.  The  causes  which  commonly  move 
a  man,  have  little  power  when  this  master-passiou 
fills  the  breast. 

In  compliance  with  the  custom  at  all  wedding- 
feasts  in  Ireland,  the  company  freely  partook  of  the 
national  nectar  (by  mortals  called  whiskey-punch)^ 


110  BITS  OF   BLARNEY. 

wiiicli  was  as  plenty  as  tea  at  an  ancient  maiden's 
•evening  entertainment,  wliere  sallj-lun  and  scandal 
are  discussed  together,  and  a  verdict  is  given,  at  one 
and  the  same  time,  upon  character  and  Souchong. 
Remmy.  of  course,  imbibed  a  fair  allowance  of  that 
resistless  and  potent  mixtui-e,  the  boast  of  which  is, 
that  "  there  is  not  a  headache  in  a  hogshead  of  it." 
Blaine  him  not.  The  apostle  of  Temperance  had 
not  then  commenced  his  charitable  crusade.  How 
-could  mortal  man  refuse  the  draught,  brewed  as  it 
specially  had  been  for  hmi  by  the  blushing  bride 
herself,  who,  taking  a  dainty  sup  out  of  the  horn 
which  did  duty  for  a  tumbler,  had  the  tempting  gal- 
lantry to  leave  a  kiss  behind — even  as  "rare  Bea 
Jonson"  recommends.  What  marvel,  if,  when  so 
many  around  him  were  rapidly  passing  the  Rubicon 
of  the  cup,  JRemmy  should  have  taken  his  allow- 
ance like  "  a  man  and  a  brother" — no,  like  a  man 
-and  a  piper, — ^particularly,  when  it  is  remembered 
that  Love,  as  well  as  Grief,  is  proverbially  thirsty. 
Still,  Remmy  Carroll  had  not  exceeded  the  limits  of 
sobriety.  He  had  drank,  but  not  to  excess — ^for  his 
failing  was  not  in  that  wise.  And  even  if  he  had 
partaken  too  freely  of  the  charmed  cup,  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether,  with  strong  passion  and  excited  feeling 
making  a  secret  under-current  in  his  mind  on  that 
evening,  any  quantity  of  liquor  could  have  sensibly 
.affected  Mm.   There  are  occasions  when  the  emotiona 


THE   PETRiriED   PIPER.  Ill 

of  the  heart  are  so  powerful  as  to  render  it  almost 
impossible  for  a  man,  even  if  he  desired  it,  thus  to 
steep  his  senses  in  forgetfulness. 

Remmy,  therefore,  was  not  "the  worse  for  liquor" 
— although  he  certainly  had  not  refrained  from  it. 
Minahan,  on  the  other  hand,  who  was  quite  a  sea- 
r^oned  vessel,  most  buoyant  in  the  ocean  of  free- 
drinking,  and  to  whom  a  skinful  of  strong  liquor  Avas 
quite  a  god-send,  had  speedily  and  easily  contrived 
to  get  into  that  pleasant  state  commonly  called  "half- 
seas-over," — that  is,  he  was  not  actually  tipsy,  but 
merry  and  agreeable ;  and  as  he  insisted  on  returning 
to  Fermoy,  though  he  was  offered  a  bed  in  the  barn, 
the  trouble  of  escorting  him  devolved  on  Remmy. 

They  left  the  house  together,  lovingly  linked  arm- 
in-arm,  for  Minahan  then  had  a  tendency  to  zig-zag 
movements.  The  next  day,  Minahan  was  found 
lying  fast  asleep,  with  a  huge  stone  for  his  pillow, 
near  the  footpath,  at  the  base  of  Corran  Thierna. 
It  was  noticed  by  one  of  those  who  discovered  him, 
that  his  feet  were  within  the  fairy-ring  which  Remmy 
had  observed  on  the  preceding  evening.  But  of 
Remmy  himself  there  was  no  trace.  If  the  earth 
had  swallowed  him  up,  he  could  not  have  vanished 
more  completely.  His  pipes  were  found  on  the 
grounJl,  near  Minahan,  and  this  was  all  that  re- 
mained of  one  who,  so  often  and  well,  had  waked 
their  soul  of  song. 

The  whole  district  became  alarmed ;  for,  indepen* 


112  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

dent  of  regret  and  wonder,  on  account  of  Remmy  's- 
personal  popularity,  a  serious  thing  in  a  country 
district  is  the  loss  of  its  only  Piper.  At  length, 
Father  Tom  Barry,  the  parish  priest  of  Fermoy, 
thought  it  only  his  duty  to  pay  a  domiciliary  visit 
to  Minahan,  to  come  at  the  real  facts  of  the  case, 
and  solve  what  was  felt  to  be  "a  most  mysterious 
mystery." 

Minahan  was  found  in  bed.  Grief  for  the  suddeii 
loss  of  his  friend  had  preyed  so  heavily  upon  his- 
sensitive  mind,  that,  ever  since  that  fatal  night,  he 
had  been  drowning  sorrow — in  whiskey.  It  was  now 
the  third  day  since  Remmy  Carroll's  disappearance ;. 
and  when  Father  Tom  entered  the  house,  he  found 
Minahan  sleeping  off  the  combined  effects  of  afflic- 
tion and  potheen.  He  was  awakened  as  soon  as. 
could  be,  and  his  first  exclamation  was,  "  Oh,  them 
fairies !  them  thieves  of  fairies !"  It  was  some  time 
before  he  could  comprehend  the  cause  of  Father 
Tom's  visit,  but  even  when  he  did,  his  words  still 
were,  "  Oh,  them  fairies !  them  thieves  of  fairies ! 
they  beat  Bannagher,  and  Bannagher  beats  the 
world !" 

A  growl  from  the  priest,  which,  from  lay  lips, 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  an  execration,  awoke 
Minahan  to  his  senses — not  that  he  was  ever  troubled 
with  a  superfluity  of  them.  He  testily  declared  his 
inability  to  tell  his  story,  except  upon  conditions. 
"  My  memory,"  said  he,  "  is  just  like  an  eel-skin^ 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  113 

your  Reverence.  It  don't  stretch  or  become  properly 
limber  until  'tis  wetted."  On  this  hint,  Father  Tom 
sent  for  a  supply  of  Tommy  Walker  ;*  and  after 
summarily  dispatcHng  a  noggin  oi  it,  Minahan 
thus  spoke : — 

"  'Twas  Remmy  and  myself,  jour  Reverence, 
that  was  meandering  home  together,  when,  as  bad 
luck  would  have  it,  nothing  would  do  me,  being 
pretty-well-I-thankyou  at  that  same  time,  but  I 
must  make  a  commencement  of  discourse  with 
Remmj  about  the  fairy  people :  for,  your  worship, 
I'd  been  telling  him  before,  as  we  went  to  the  wed- 
ding of  Phil  Connor,  who  was  transmographied 
into  a  stone  statute.  Well  and  good,  just  as  Remmy 
came  right  forenent  the  fairy-ring,  says  he,  '  'Faith, 
I  would  not  object  myself  to  have  a  lilt  with  them!' 
No  sooner  had  he  said  the  wordsj  your  honor,  than 
up  came  the  sweet  music  that  we  heard  the  night 
before,  and  with  that  a  thousand  lights  suddenly 
glanced  up  from  the  fairy-ring,  just  as  if  'twas  an 

*  At  that  time,  the  two  great  whiskey-distillers  in  Cork  were 
Thomas  Walker  and  Thomas  Wise, — respectively  carrying  on 
their  business  in  the  South  and  North  suburbs  of  the  city.  Both 
are  alluded  to  in  Maginn's  celebrated  song,  "  Cork  is  the  Aiden 
for  you,  love,  and  me."    The  verse  runs  thus  : — 

"  Take  the  road  to  Glanmire,  the  road  to  Elackrock,  or 
The  sweet  Boreemannah,  to  charm  your  eyes  ; 
If  you  doubt  what  is  Wise,  take  a  dram  of  Tom  Walker, 
And  if  you're  a  WaVcer,  top  off  Tommy  Wise." 


lii  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

illumination  for  some  great  victory.  Then,  the 
music  playing  all  the  while,  myself  and  Eemmy 
set  our  good-looking  ears  to  listen,  and,  quick  as 
I'd  swallow  this  glass  of  whiskey — here's  a  good 
health  to  your  Keverence ! — a  thousand  dawny 
creatures  started  up  and  began  dancing  jigs,  as  if 
there  was  quicksilver  in  their  heels.  There  they 
went,  hither  and  thither,  to  and  fro,  far  and  near, 
coursing  about  in  all  manner  of  ways,  and  making 
the  earth  tremble  beneath  'em,  with  the  dint  of  their 
quickness.  At  last,  your  Eeverence,  one  of  them 
came  out  of  the  ring,  making  a  leg  and  a  bow  as 
genteel  as  ould  Lynch,  the  dancing-master,  and  said, 
*  Mister  Carroll,'  says  he,  *  if  you'd  please  to  be 
agreeable,  'tis  we'd  like  to  foot  it  to  your  pipes  (and 
you  should  have  seen  the  soothering  wink  the  villain 
gave  as  he  said  the  words),  'for,'  says  he,  "tis  our- 
selves have  often  heard  tell  of  your  beautiful  playing.' 
Then  the  weeny  little  mite  of  a  fairy  fixed  his  little 
eyes  upon  Remmy,  and,  that  I  mightn't,  if  they  did 
not  shine  in  his  head  like  two  coals  of  red  fire,  or  a 
cat's  eye  under  a  blanket ! 

"  'I'm  no  player  for  the  likes  of  ye,'  says  Remmy, 
modest-like.  But  they'd  take  no  excuse,  and  they 
all  gathered  around  him,  and  what  with  sootherin' 
words,  and  bright  looks,  and  little  pushes,  they 
complately  put  their  comeheiher  upon  him,  and 
coaxed  hici  to  play  for  ttem,  and  then,  the  cajoling 
creatures  1  they  fixed  a  big  stone  for  a  sate,  and  he 


THE   PETRIFIED   FIPER.  115 

struck  i*p  Garryowen^  sharp  and  quick,  like  sliot 
througli  a  hcily-bush.  Then  they  all  set  to  at  the 
■dancing,  like  the  blessed  Saint  Vitus  and  his  cousins^ 
.and  surely  it  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  look  at.  The 
dawny  creatures  worn't  much  bigger  than  your  mid- 
<ile  finger,  and  all  nately  dressed  in  green  clothes^ 
with  silk  stockings  and  pumps,  and  three-cocked  hats 
■upon  their  heads,  and  powdered  wigs,  and  silk  sashes 
Across  their  breasts,  and  swords  by  their  sides  about 
.the  size  of  a  broken  needle.  'Faith,  'twas  beautiful 
they  footed  it  away,  and  remarkable  they  looked. 

"  Well,  your  honor,  he  was  playing  away  like  mad, 
and  they  were  all  capering  about,  male  and  faymale, 
young  and  old,  just  like  the  French  who  eat  so  many 
frogs  that  they  do  ever  and  always  be  dancing,  when 
■one  of  the  faymale  fairies  come  up  to  Remmy's  elbow, 
and  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  sweeter  than  any  music, 
^  May -be,  Mister  Carroll,  you'd  be  dry?'  Then  Rem- 
my  looked  at  her  a  moment,  till  the  faymale  fairy 
liung  down  her  head,  quite  modest.  '  Well,'  says 
Hemmy,  'you  are  a  nice  little  creature,  and  no  words 
about  it !'  She  looked  up  at  him,  and  her  cheeks  got 
as  red  as  a  field-poppy,  with  delight  at  Remmy's 
jpraising  her ; — for  faymales,  your  Reverence,  is  fay- 
males  aU. the  world  over,  and  a  little  blarney  goes  a 
.great  way  with  them,  and  makes  them  go  on  as 
smoothly  as  a  hall-door  upon  well-oiled  hinges. 
Then,  she  asked  him  again  if  he  did  not  feel  dry, 
and  Remmy  said  he'd  been  to  a  wedding,  and  wasn't 


116  BITS   OF  BLARXEY. 

dry  in  particular,  but  he'd  just  like  to  drink  a  good 
husband  to  her,  and  soon,  and  many  of  them.  So, 
she  laughed,  and  blushed  again,  and  handed  him  a 
little  morsel  of  a  glass  full  of  something  that,  I'll  be- 
bound  for  it,  m  as  stronger,  anyhow,  than  holy  water. 
She  kissed  the  little  glass  as  he  took  it,  and  he  drank 
away,  and  when  he  was  handing  her  back  the  glass,. 
his  eyes  danced  in  his  head  again,  there  was  so  much 
fire  in  them.  So,  thinking  that  some  of  the  same- 
cordial  would  be  good  for  my  own  complaint,  I  calls 
out  to  Remmy  to  leave  a  drop  for  me.  But,  whoop! 
no  sooner  had  I  said  the  words,  than,  all  of  a  sudden, 
the  whole  tote  of  them  vanished  away,  Remmy  throw- 
ing me  his  pipes,  by  way  of  keepsake,  as  he  dashed 
down  through  the  earth  with  the  rest  of  them.  I. 
dare  say  he  did  not  want  to  be  bothered  with  the 
pipes,  knowing  that  in  the  place  he  was  going  to  he 
could  use  those  that  Phil  Connor  had  taken  down: 
before.     And  that's  all  that  I  know  of  it." 

Here  Minahan,  overpowered  with  grief  and  the 
fatigue  of  speaking,  perpetrated  a  deep  sigh  and  a 
deeper  draught,  which  exhausted  the  remnant  of  the 
whiskey. 

"  But,  Minahan,"  said  Father  Barry,  "  you  cer- 
tainly don't  mean  to  pass  off  this  wild  story  for 
fact." 

"  But  I  do,  your  Reverence,"  said  Minahan,  rather 
testily.  "  Sure  none  but  myself  was  to  the  fore,  and 
It  only  stands  to  reason  that  as  one  piper  wasn't 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  117 

-enougli  for  the  fairies,  tliey  seduced  Remmy  Carroll 
awav,  bad  cess  to  'em  for  that  same.  And,  indeed, 
your  worship,  I  dreamed  that  I  saw  him  last  night, 
made  up  into  a  stone  statute,  like  poor  Phil  Connor; 
and  sure  there's  great  truth  in  dreams,  entirely." 

Father  Barry,  of  course,  did  not  believe  one  word 
■of  this  extraordinary  story,  but  his  parishioners  did, 
-and  therefore  he  eschewed  the  heresy  of  publicly 
doubting  it.  He  contented  himself  with  shaking 
his  head,  somewhat  after  the  grave  fashion  of  a 
"Chinese  Mandarin  in  a  grocer's  window,  whenever 
this  subject  was  alluded  to,  and  this  Burleigh  indica- 
tion^ as  well  as  his  silence,  obtained  for  him  an  im- 
mense reputation  for  wisdom. 

There  was  one  of  his  congregation  who  shared, 
to  the  full,  the  good  priest's  disbelief  of  Minahan's 
"tough  yarn"  about  the  fairies.  This  was  Mary 
Mahonv,  who  was  convinced,  whatever  had  befallen 
Remmy, — and  her  fears  anticipated  even  the  worst 
— that  he  had  not  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  fairies. 
Indeed,  she  was  bold  enough  to  doubt  whether  there 
were  such  beings  as  fairies.  These  doubts,  however, 
she  kept  to  herself  Poor  thing !  silently  but  sadly 
did  she  miss  her  lover.  She  said  not  one  word  to 
any  one  of  what  had  passed  between  them  on  the 
memorable  day  of  his  disappearance.  Buj  that  her 
cheek  grew  pale,  and  that  melancholy  gently  brooded 
in  the  deep  quiet  of  her  eyes,  and  that  her  voice, 
^ways  low,  was  now  sad  and  soft  as  the  mournful 


118  BITS   OF  BLAENEY. . 

murmur  of  the  widowed  cushat-dove,  even  vigilant 
observation  could  notice  little  difference  in  her.  Not 
a  day  passed  without  her  father  lamenting  Remmy's 
absence,  and  when  he  spoke  approvingly  of  our 
vanished  hero,  tears  would  slowly  gather  in  her 
eyes,  and  her  heart  would  swell  with  a  sorrow  all 
the  deeper  for  suppression.  It  was  great  consola-^ 
tion  for  her  to  find,  now  that  he  was  gone,  how  all 
lips  praised  the  good  qualities  of  Remmy  CarrolL 
It  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  one's  love  is  not  unworthily 
bestowed. 

Meantime,  the  deportation  of  Remmy,  by  the- 
fairies,  became  duly  accredited  in  Fermoy  and  its- 
vicinity.  If  he  had  solely  and  wholly  vanished,  it 
might  have  been  attributed  to  what  Horatio  calls, 
"a  truant  disposition;"  but  his  pipes  were  left  be- 
hind him,  circumstantial  evidence  of  Minahan's  nar- 
rative. Mightily  was  this  corroborated,  a  few 
months  after,  when  Gerald  Barry,  the  priest's: 
nephew,  being  out  one  day,  coursing  on  Corrark 
Thierna,  discovered  a  sort  of  cave,  the  entrance  to- 
which  had  been  concealed  by  the  huge  rock  which 
lay  close  to  the  magic  circle  of  the  fairies !  His 
terrier  had  run  into  it,  after  a  refractory  rabbit,, 
who  would  not  wait  to  be  caught,  and,  from  the 
length  of  his  stay,  it  was  conjectured  that  the  cave 
must  be  of  immense  extent.  True  it  is,  that  no  one 
harbored  the  audacious  thought  of  examining  it;  for 
what  mortal  could  be  so  reckless  as  to  venture  into 


THE   PETEIFIED   PIPER.  '  119 

the  stronghold  of  the  "good  people," — but  the  very 
fact  of  there  being  such  a  cavity  under  the  rock, 
dignified  with  the  brevet-rank  of  a  cavern,  satisfied 
the  Fermoy  folks  that  Eemmy  Carroll  was  within 
it,  changed  into  a  Peteified  Piper  ! 

Some  weeks  later,  Gerald  Barry's  dog  again  ran 
into  the  cave,  and  remained  there  until  the  young 
man,  iinwilling  to  lose  a  capital  terrier,  dug  hira 
out  with  his  own  hands ;  for  neither  love  nor  money 
could  tempt  any  one  else  to  do  such  a  fool-hardy 
exploit.  He  declared  that  the  mysterious  cave  was 
no  cave,  but  only  an  old  rabbit-burrow !  All  the 
old  women,  in  and  out  of  petticoats,  unanimously 
announced  that  it  was  clear  ("  as  mud  in  a  wine- 
glass," no  doubt),'  that  the  cave  had  been  there,  but 
that  the  fairies  had  changed  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
place,  to  prevent  the  discovery  of  their  petrified  vic- 
tims ;  for,  argued  they,  if  they  could  make  men  into 
marble  statues,  they  certainly  must  possess  the 
minor  power  of  making  a  cave  look  as  insignificant 
as  a  rabbit-burrrow.  Logic,  such  as  this,  was  suf- 
ficient to  settle  the  mooted  point,  and  ihen  it  becamtj 
a  moral  and  physical  certainty,  in  the  Fermoy  world, 
that  Phil  Connor  and  Remmy  Carroll  were  petrified 
inmates  of  the  mountain  cavern ! 

When,  some  eighteen  months  after  this,  it  was 
Gerald  Barry's  ill-fortune  to  break  his  collar-bone 
by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  in  a  steeple- chase,  there 
arose  a  general  conviction,  in  the  minds  of  all  the 


120  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

Fermoy  believers  in  fairy -lore,  tliat  this  was  a  pun 
isliment  inflicted  upon  him  by  "  the  good  people," 
for  his  impertinent  intrusion  into  their  peculiai 
iiaunts. 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  121 

CHAPTER    V. 
HOW  IT  ALL   ENDED. 

Slowly,  but  surelj,  does  the  tide  of  Time  carry 
j-ear  after  year  into  the  eternity  of  the  Past.     As 
wave  chases  wave  to  the  shore,  on  which  it  breaks — 
sometimes  in  a  gentle  and  diffusing  ripple,  some- 
times into  feathery  foam,  if  it  strike  against  a  rock — 
so  does  year  chase  year  away  into  the  memory  of 
what  has  been.     It  is  the  same  with  empires  and 
villages,  with  the  crowded  haunts  of  men,  and  the 
humble  huts  wherein  the  poor  do  vegetate.     For 
^ach  and  for  all.  Time  sweeps  on ;  carrying  on  its 
tide,  amid  many  things  of  little  value,  some  with 
which  are  linked  sweet  and  tender  associations.     To 
look  back,  even  for  a  single  year,  and  contrast  what 
has  been  with  ^^•hat  is  !     How  mournful  the  retros- 
pect,  in   the  generality  of   cases!     Hopes  fondly 
cherished,  alleviating  the  actual  pains  of  life  by  the 
promise    of   an   ideal   improvement ;     day-dreams 
indulged  in,  until  they  become  fixed  upon  the  mind, 
as  if  they  were  realities  ;  resolutions  made,  which  the 
heart  found  it  impossible  to  carry  into  practice; 
-Bunny  friendships  in  fiiU  luxuriance,  which   a  few 
hasty  words,  too  quickly  taken  up,  were  to  throw 
into  shade,  at  once  and  forever ;  love  itself  which 
•promised  so  much  in  its  glorious  spring,  grown  cold 
6 


122  BITS   OF  BLARXEY. 

and  careless.  Talk  of  the  changes  of  a  year ! — look 
back,  and  recollect  what  even  a  single  day  has  given, 
birth  to  ;  but,  think  not  that  there  is  always  change, 
or  that  all  changes  are  for  the  worst.  Sometimes- 
the  bright  hopes  will  have  the  glad  fulfilment ;  the 
day-dreams,  after  passing  through  the  ordeal  of  ex- 
pectation, which,  when  deferred,  maketh  the  heart 
sick,  will  be  hapi:)ily  realized;  the  friendship  on 
which  we  relied  will  have  gone  through  the  trial, 
and  have  stood  the  test ;  the  love  will  have  proved 
itself  all  that  the  heart  had  ventured  to  anticipate, 
and  have  thrown  upon  the  realities  of  life,  an  endur- 
ing charm,  mitigling  strength  and  softness,  including 
in  its  magic  circle,  endurance  as  strong  as  adamant, 
and  tenderness  which  subdues  even  while  it  sustains. 
Aye,  life  has  its  lights  and  shadows ;  and,  in  the 
circling  course  of  time  and  circumstance,  the  shadow 
of  to-day  glides  gently  on,  until  it  be  lost  in  the  sun- 
shine of  the  morrow. 

Let  us  return  to  our  story.  Imagine,  if  you 
j)lease,  that  six  years  have  passed  by  since  the  mys- 
terious and  unforgotten  disappearance  of  Eemmy 
Carroll,  our  very  humble  hero.  Many  changes  have- 
taken  place,  locally  and  generally.  Fermoy,  rapidly 
rising  into  opulence,  as  the  greatest  military  depot 
in  Ireland,  still  kept  a  memory  of  Remmy  Carroll- 
Death  had  laid  his  icy  hand  upon  Mr.  Bartle  Ma- 
hony,  whose  fair  daughter,  Mary,  had  succeeded  to 
his  well-stocked  farm  and  his  prudent  accumula- 
tions, which,  joined  with  her  own  possessions,  made 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  123^ 

her  comparutivelj  wealtliy.  But,  in  her,  and  in 
such  as  her,  who  derive  their  nobility  from  God, 
fortune  could  make  no  change — except  by  enlarg- 
ing the  sphere  of  her  active  virtues.  In  a  very 
humble  and  unostentatious  "way,  Mary  Mahony  -was- 
the  Lady  Bountiful  of  the  place.  The  blessings  of 
the  poor  were  hers.  AVheiever  distress  was  to  be 
relieved — and  Heaven  knows  that  the  mournful  in- 
stances were  not  a  few — there  did  the  quiet  bounty 
of  Mary  Mahony  flow,  scattering  blessings  around 
by  that  gentle  personal  expression  of  feeling  and 
sympathy,  which  the  highly  imaginative  and  excita- 
ble Irish  prize  fer  more  than  the  most  liberal  dole 
which  mere  Wealth  can  haughtily  bestow.  Oh,  that 
those  who  give,  could  know,  or  would  pause  to 
think,  how  much  rests  on  the  manner  of  giving! 
Any  hand  can  dispense  the  mere  largesse,  which  i& 
called  "Charity,"  but  the  voice,  the  glance,  the 
touch  of  hearted  kindness  soothes  the  mental  pangs- 
of  the  afflicted.  In  Ireland,  where  there  are  count- 
less calls  upon  benevolence,  casual  relief  has  been 
demanded  as  a  sort  of  right;  but  a  kind  word,  a 
gentle  tone,  a  sympathizing  look,  makes  the  gift  of 
double  value.  And  where  was  there  ever  kindness 
and  gentleness  to  equal  those  exercised  by  Mary 
Mahony?  She  had  had  her  own  experiences  in. 
sorrow,  and  was,  therefore,  well  qualified  to  yield  tc 
others  that  touching  sympathy  which  most  forcibly 
awakens  gratitude.  She  had  suffered,  and,  there- 
fore,  sh'3  sympathized. 


124  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

Her  beauty  remained  undimmed,  but  its  character 
was  somewhat  charged.  If  there  was  less  of  the 
:fire  of  earlier  days,  there  was  more  of  intellectual 
•expression,  the  growth  at  once  of  her  mind's  devel- 
opment into  maturity,  and  of  the  sorrows  which  had 
-chastened  her,  as  well  as  of  the  circumstances  which 
had  thrown  her  thoughts  into  contemplation.  At 
her  age — she  was  barely  three-and-tw«nty — it  ap- 
pears absurd  to  talk  of  her  loveliness  having  had 
its  peach-like  bloom  impaired.  As  Wordsworth 
-says, 

"  She  seemed  a  thing  that  could  not  feel 
The  touch  of  earthly  years." 

"W"hat  the  same  true  poet  has  said  of  that  fair  Lucy, 
who  yet  lives  in  his  exquisite  lyric,  might  have 
heen  said,  without  any  breach  of  truth,  of  our  own 
Mary  Mahony: 

"  Tlien  Nature  said, '  A  lovelier  flower 

On  earth  was  never  sown  ; 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take  ; 
Slie  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 

A  lady  of  my  own.'  " 

At  first,  after  her  father's  death,  when  it  was 
known  in  what  a  prosperous  state  she  had  been 
left  (and  rumor,  as  usual,  greatly  exaggerated  the 
fiict),  she  had  been  pestered  with  the  addresses  of 
various  persons  who  would  have  been  happy  to  ob- 
tain a  fair  bride  with  her  goodly  heritage,  but  it 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  125- 

was  soon  found  that  she  was  not  matrimonially  in- 
clined, so,  by  degrees,  they  left  her  "maiden  medi- 
tation fancy-free."     Among  her  suitors  were  a  few 
--  who   really    were    not    influenced    by    interested 
motives,  and  sought  to  win  her,  out  of  their  admi- 
ration   for   herself.      Gently,   but  decidedly,  thej 
were  repulsed,  and  many  of  them,  who  were  mucli 
above  her  in  wealth  and  station,  were  proud  to  be 
reckoned  among  her  warm  friends  at  a  later  period. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  have  made  an  enemy 
— as  if  she  could  not  awaken  unkind  feelings  in 
any  mind.    Even  scandal  never  once    thought   of 
inventing  stories  about  her, — goodness  and  inno- 
cence were  around  her,  like  a  panoply. 

Mary  Mahony  remained  true  to  the  cherished 
passion  of  her  youth.  It  flowed  on,  a  silent  and 
deep  stream.  None  knew  what  she  felt.  None  were 
aware  of  the  arrow  in  her  heart,  and  her  pain  was 
the  intenser  for  its  concealment.  So  wholly  unsus- 
pected was  her  secret,  that  when,  immediately  after 
her  father's  death,  she  received  Eemmy  Carroll's  bed- 
ridden relative  as  an  inmate  at  her  own  residence 
people  only  admired  the  charity  which  had  led  her  to 
succour  the  helpless.  No  one  appeared  to  think,  for 
they  did  not  know,  that  Eemmy  could  ever  have 
awakened  an  interest  in  her  heart. 

The  destinies  of  Europe  had  beei.  adjusted.  Th& 
Imperial  Eagle  of  France  had  been  struck  down  at 
"Waterloo,  when  Napoleon  and  Wellington  had  met 


126  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

and  battled.  After  peace  had  been  proclaimed,  the 
Ministry  of  the  day  proceeded  to  reduce  the  war  es- 
tablishment, by  disbanding  the  second  battalions  of 
many  regiments.  The  result  was  that  some  thousands 
of  ex -soldiers  wended  home.  Very  many  of  them 
^vere  from  Ireland,  and  came  back  mere  wrecks  of 
manhood — for  the  casualties  of  battle,  and  the  certain- 
ties of  sharp  hospital  practice,  are  only  too  successful 
in  removing  such  superfluities  as  arms  and  legs. 

In  the  spring  of  1816,  two  or  three  persons  might 
have  been  seen  walking  down  the  main  street  of  Fer- 
moy.  If  there  could  have  existed  any  doubt  as  to 
what  they  had  been,  their  measured  walk  and  martial 
bearing  would  have  promptly  removed  it.  They, 
indeed,  were  disabled  soldiers.  The  youngest  might 
have  numbered  some  eight-and-twenty  years,  and, 
"though  he  was  mmus  his  left  arm,  few  men  could  be 
found  whose  personal  appearance  was  superior  to  his 
own. 

They  passed  on,  unnoticed,  as  any  other  strangers 
might  have  passed  on,  and  found  "choicest  welcome" 
in  a  hostelrie,  "  for  the  accommodation  of  man  and 
beast,''  at  the  lower  end  of  the  town.  What  creature- 
'Comforts  they  there  partook  of  I  am  unable  to  enu- 
merate, for  the  bill  of  fare,  if  such  a  document  ever 
existed  in  that  neat  but  humble  inn,  has  not  been 
preserved.  The  sun  had  nearly  gone  down,  however, 
Tjefore  any  of  the  peripatetic  trio  manifested  any  in- 
■clination  towards  locomotion.    At  last,  he,  to  whom 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  127 

I  have  more  particularly  drawn  attention,  told  his 
-companions  that  he  had  some  business  in  the  town — 
some  inquiries  to  make — and  would  rejcin  them  in 
an  hour  or  two  at  the  latest.  He  might  as  well  have 
spoken  to  the  wind,  for  thej  had  walked  that  day 
from  Cork  (a  trifle  of  some  eighteen  Irish  miles),  and 
were  already  fast  asleep  on  the  benches.  Their  com- 
panion wrapped  himself  up  in  a  large  military  cloak, 
lined  with  fur — whilom,  in  Eussia,  it  had  covered 
the  iron-bound  shoulders  of  a  captain  in  Napoleon's 
Old  Guard.  This  completely  concealed  his  figure, 
tmd  drawing  his  hat  over  his  face,  so  as  to  shade  his 
features,  he  sallied  forth,  like  Don  Quixote,  in  search 
of  adventures. 

When  he  reached  the  Sessions  House,  at  the  ex- 
tremity  of  the  town,  instead  of  pursuing  the  high 
Toad  which  leads  to  Lismore,  he  deviated  to  the  ex- 
treme left,  crossed  the  meadow-boun^  by  the  paper- 
mill,  and  found  himself  on  the  Inch,  by  that  rapid 
branch  of  the  Blackwater  which  has  been  diverted 
from  the  main  current  for  the  use  of  the  two  mills — 
illegally  diverted,  I  think,  for  it  renders  the  natural 
course  of  the  river  a  mere  shallow,  and  prevents  a 
navigation  which  might  be  carried  on  with  success 
and  profit,  from  Fermoy,  by  Lismore,  down  to  the 
sea  at  Youghall. 

Rapidly  pressing  forward,  the  Stranger  soon  came 
to  the  chasm  which  has  already  been  mentioned  as 
that  from  which,  some  years  since,  Reramy  Carroll, 


128  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

the  piper,  had  rescued  Mary  Mahony  from  drownings 
He  threw  himself,  at  listless  length,  on  the  sward  by 
the  gurgling  stream,  and  gazed,  in  silence,  on  the- 
fair  scene  before  him. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  scene  to  delight  the  eye  and 
charm  the  mind  of  any  beholder.  Across  the  broad 
river  were  the  rocks  of  Kathhely,  clothed  here  and 
there  with  larches  and  pines,  those  pleasant  ever- 
greens— before  him  swept  the  deep  and  rapid  waters 
— and,  a  little"  lower  down,  like  a  stately  sentinel 
over  the  fine  country  around,  rose  the  tall  and  pre- 
cipitous rock,  on  which  stood  the  ruins,  proud  in 
their  very  decay,  of  the  ancient  castle  of  Carriga- 
brick, — one  of  the  round,  lofty,  lonely  towers,  whose 
origin  and  use  have  puzzled  so  many  antiquaries, 
from  Ledwich  and  Vallancey,  to  Henry  O'Brien 
and  Thomas  Moore,  George  Petrie  and  Sir  William 
Betham. 

With  an  eager  and  yet  a  saddened  spirit,  the 
stranger  gazed  intently  and  anxiously  upon  the 
scene,  varied  as  it  is  picturesque,  his  mind  drinking 
in  its  quiet  beauty — a  scene  upon  which,  in  years 
long  since  departed,  my  own  boyhood  loved  to  look. 
And  now,  in  the  softened  effulgence  of  the  setting 
sun,  and  the  silence  of  the  hour,  the  place  looked 
more  like  the  embodiment  of  a  poet's  dream,  or  a 
painter's  glorious  imagining,  than  anything  belong- 
ing to  this  every-day  world  of  hard  and  cold  reality. 

The  Stranger  gazed  upon  the  scene  silently  for 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  129 

a  time,  but  his  feelings  miglit  thus  be  embod  ed  in 
words : — "  It  is  beautiful,  and  it  is  the  same ;  only, 
untU  I  saw  other  places,  praised  for  their  beauty,  I 
did  not  know  how  beautiful  were  the  dark  river,  and 
the  quiet  meadows,  and  the  ivy-covered  rock,  and 
the  gray  ruin.  Change  has  heavily  passed  over  my- 
self, but  has  lightly  touched  the  fair  Nature  around 
me.  Heaven  knows  whether  she  may  not  be  changed 
also.  I  would  rather  be  dead  than  hear  she  was 
another's.  The  lips  that  my  lips  have  kissed — the 
eyes  that  my  eyes  have  looked  into — the  hand  that 
my  hand  has  pressed — the  form  that  my  arms  have 
folded ;  that  another  should  call  them  his — the  very 
thought  of  it  almost  maddens  me.  Or,  she  may  be 
dead  ?  I  have  not  had  the  heart  to  inquire.  This 
suspense  is  the  worst  of  all, — let  me  end  it." 

Thus  he  thought — perhaps  the  thoughts  may 
have  unconsciously  shaped  themselves  into  words: 
but  soliloquies  may  be  thought  as  well  as  uttered 
audibly.  He  rose  from  the  damp  sward,  sprang 
across  the  chasm,  proceeded  rapidly  on,  and  in  t^n 
minutes  was  sitting  on  the  stile,  by  which,  in  other 
days,  he  had  often  parted  from  Mary  Mahony — for, 
by  this  time,  my  readers  must  have  recognized 
Eemrny  Carroll  in  the  Stranger. 

How  long  he  rested  here,  or  with  what  anxious 

feelings  he   gazed   upon   the    house,    just  visible 

through  the  trees,  I  am  not  able  to  state, — ^but  I  can 

easilv  imagine  what  a  contention  of  hope  and  feai 

6* 


130  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

there  must  have  been  in  his  heart.  The  apprehen- 
sion of  evil,  however,  was  in  the  ascendant,  for, 
though  two  or  three  half-familiar  faces  passed  him, 
he  could  not  summon  courage  to  ask  after  Marj 
and  her  father.  At  last,  he  determined  to  make 
full  inquiries  from  the  next  person  he  saw. 

The  opportunity  was  speedily  afforded.  A  female 
appeared,  slowly  advancing  up  the  path.  Could  it 
indeed  be  herself?  She  came  nearer.  One  glance, 
and  he  recognized  her,  the  star  of  his  spirit — bright, 
beaming,  and  as  beautiful  as  Memory  and  Fancy 
(the  dove-winged  ministers  of  Love)  had  delighted 
to  paint  her,  amid  the  darkness  and  perils  of  the  Past. 

He  sprang  forward  to  meet  her.  There  was  no 
recognition  upon  her  part.  Nor  was  this  very  won- 
derful— though  the  lover  of  romance  might  expect, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that,  from  pure  sympathy, 
the  maiden  should  have  instantly  known  who  was 
before  her.  Years,  which  had  passed  so  gently 
over  her,  softening  and  mellowing  her  beauty,  had. 
bronzed  his  face,  and  almost  changed  its  very  ex- 
pression. The  dark  moustache  and  thick  whiskers, 
which  he  now  wore,  his  altered  appearance,  his 
military  bearing, — all  combined  to  make  him  very 
different  from  the  rustic,  however  comely,  whom 
she  had  last  seen  six  years  before. 

Seeing  a  stranger  advance  towards  her,  Mary 
paused.  He  accosted  her,  ^vith  an  inquiry  whethel 
Mr.  Bartle  Mahony  was  to  be  seen  ? 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  131 

"He  is  dead,"  said  she.  "He  has  been  dead 
nearly  six  years." 

Carroll  staited  back,  for  the  unwelcome  news 
chilled  him,  and  the  well-remembered  tones  struck 
some  of  the  most  responsive  chords  of  his  heart. 

"  I  am  grieved  to  hear  of  his  death.  I  knew  him 
once.  lie  was  kind  to  me  in  former  days,  when 
kindness  was  of  value,  and  I  came  to  thank  him 
now.  God's  blessing  on  his  soul !  He  was  a  good 
man."  There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  he  resumed, 
"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me,  young  lady,  whether  his 
daughter  is  alive,  and  where  she  may  be  seen  ? 
The  trifles  which  I  have  brought  from  foreign 
countries,  to  mark  my  recollection  of  his  goodness 
to  me,  perhaps  she  may  accept?" 

"You  are  speaking  to  her,"  said  Mary. 

"My  little  presents  are  in  this  parcel,"  said  Rem- 
my.  "  They  are  relics  from  the  field  of  battle. 
These  silver-mounted  pistols  were  given  to  me  by  a 
French  officer,  whose  life  I  saved, — this  Cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor  was  hastily  plucked  from  the 
bosom  of  one  of  his  dead  comrades,  after  a  fierce 
<;harge  at  Waterloo.  Take  them : — I  destined  them 
for  your  father  from  the  moment  they  became 
mine." 

He  placed  the  parcel  in  her  hand. — One  question 
would  bring  hope  or  despair.  He  feared  to  ask  it. 
He  drew  closer,  and,  as  composedly  as  he  could, 
"whispered  into  her  ear,  "Are  you  married?" 


132  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

The  blood  fluslied  up  into  Mary's  face.  She- 
drew  back,  for  his  questioning  vexed  her,  and  sh& 
wished  to  get  rid  of  the  inquisitive  stranger.  She 
handed  him  bacl^  the  parcel,  and  said,  "I  hope,  sir, 
that  you  do  not  mean  to  annoy  or  insult  me  ?  If" 
you  do,  there  are  those  within  call  who  can  soon 
release  me  from  your  intrusion.  I  cannot  retain 
the  presents  which  a  mere  stranger  tells  me  were 
intended  for  my  poor  father. — And,  if  I  must  an- 
swer your  last  question,  I  am  not  married." 

"  Thank  God!"  was  Carroll's  earnest  and  involun- 
tary exclamation. 

People  may  talk  as  they  please  of  the  quick- 
sightedness  of  love.     Mary  certainly  had  little  oi 
it,  for  she  did  not  recognize  her  lover,  and,  turning 
round,  prepared   to  return  home.     Carroll  gently 
detained  her,  by  placing  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  I  pray  your  pardon,"  said  he,  "  but  I  may  not 
have  an  opportunity  of  again  speaking  to  you,  and 
I  have  a  word  to  say  about  a  person  whom  you 
once  knew,  but  have  probably  forgotten.  There 
was  a  poor,  worthless  young  man,  named  Carroll, 
in  this  neighborhood  a  few  years  ago.  He  was  a 
weak  creature,  fool  enough  to  love  the  very  ground 
on  which  you  trod,  and  vain  enough  to  think  that- 
you  were  not  quite  indifferent  to  him." 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Mary,  with  a  flushed 
cheek,  and  flashing  eyes,  "why  you  should  continue 
to  intrude   your  presence   and   your  conversation- 


THE    PETKIFTED   PIPER.  133 

when  you  see  that  botli  are  unpleasant  to  me,  I 
do  not  know  why  you  should  ask  me  questions 
which  a  sense  of  common  decency  would  have 
avoided.  If  I  answer  you  now,  it  is  that  my  silence 
may  not  appear  to  sanction  imputations  upon  one 
•over  whom,  I  fear,  the  grave  has  closed — whom,  be 
he  alive  or  dead,  it  was  no  dishonor  to  have  known 
and  have  regarded.  I  did  know  this  Carroll  whom 
you  name,  but  cannot  imagine  how  you,  a  stranger, 
can  have  learnt  that  I  did.  It  was  his  misfortune 
to  have  been  poor,  but  he  never  was  worthless,  nor 
•could  have  been." 

"  One  word  more,"  exclaimed  Remmy,  "but  one 
more  word.  Eemmy  Carroll,  so  long  believed  to 
have  been  dead,  is  alive  and  in  health — after  many 
sufferings  he  returns  home,  poor  as  when  he  left  it, 
rich  in  nothing  but  an  honest  name.  He  comes 
back,  a  disabled  soldier,  and  he  dare  not  ask  whether, 
beautiful  and  wealthy  as  you  are,  you  are  the  Maiy 
Mahony  of  other  years,  and  love  him  still  ?" 

Mary  looked  at  him  with  intent  anxiety.  The 
■color  which  emotion  had  sent  into  her  face  paled, 
and  then  rushed  back  in  a  quickened  life-tide,  mant- 
ling her  very  forehead.  Even  then  she  had  not  rec- 
ognized her  lover ! 

"  If  he  be  indeed  returned,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  so 
•low  that  Eemmy  did  not  know  whether  the  words 
were  addressed  to  him,  or  were  the  mere  impulse  of 
her  thought,  involuntarily  framed  into  utterance, 


134  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

"  and  if  he  be  the  same  in  heart — the  same  frank 
and  honest  mind — the  same  true  and  loving  spirit — • 
the  same  in  his  contempt  of  all  that  is  bad,  and  his 
reverence  for  whatever  is  good — his  poverty  is- 
nothing,  for  /  have  Avealth ;  and  if  his  health  be 
broken,  I  yet  may  soothe  the  pain  I  may  not  cure. 
Tell  me,"  said  she,  and  the  words  came  forth,  this 
time,  freely  spoken,  as  if  she  had  determined  to  be 
satisfied  and  to  act,  "  tell  me,  you  who  seem  to  know 
him,  though  your  description  wrongs  him,  where  has 
Remmy  Carroll  been  during  all  these  long  years  ? 
Why  did  he  leave  us  ?  Why  did  he  not  write  to- 
relieve  the  anxiety  of  those  who  cared  for  him? 
Where  is  he  now  ?" 

What  was  the  response?  Softly  and  suddenly 
an  arm  wound  itself  around  that  graceful  form, 
warmly  and  lovingly  fell  a  shower  of  kisses  on  the- 
coral  beauty  of  those  luxuriant  lips. 

W^as  she  not  angry — fiercely  indignant?  Did 
not  her  outraged  feelings  manifest  their  auger  ?  W^as^ 
not  her  maidenly  modesty  in  arms  at  the  liberty 
thus  taken,  and  by  a  stranger  ?  This  was  the 
crowning  misconduct — did  she  not  reprove  it  ? 

No!  for,  in  tones  which  thrilled  through  her  lov- 
ing heart,  Remmy  Carroll  wliispered  "  Mary  ! — my 
own,  true,  dear  Mary !"  In  the  struggle  (for  Mary 
did  struggle  at  first)  which  immediately  preceded 
these  words,  the  large  cloak  and  the  hat  fe^l  off,  and 
then  she  recognized  the  forehead  and  the  eyes — 


THE   PETRIFIED  PIPER.  135 

then  she  knew  him  whom  she  had  loved  so  well, 
and  mourned  so  long — then  she  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  in  the  very  abandonment  of  affec- 
tion and  delight — then  she  clung  close  and  yet  closer 
to  him,  as  if  they  never  more  must  part — then,  re- 
membering how  she  was  yielding  to  the  warm  im- 
pulses of  her  nature,  she  hid  her  burning  face  in  his 
bosom,  and  then,  when  he  embraced  her  again  and 
again,  she  could  not  find  words  to  protest  against  the 
gentle  deed. 

Then,  arm  in  arm,  they  walked  into  the  house, 
and  there  Remmy's  aged  relative,  whose  condition 
and  sufferings  had  been  so  much  improved  and  alle- 
viated by  the  kindness  and  bounty  of  Mary  Ma- 
hony — simply  because  she  was  Remmy's  relative — 
was  made  happy  by  the  presence  of  him  over  whom 
she  had  shed  so  many  bitter  tears.  Perhaps  her 
happiness  was  augmented  by  perceiving  on  what  ex- 
cellent terms  the  heiress  and  he  were — perhaj^s  her 
eyes  filled  with  pleasant  tears,  when  Mary  Mahony 
whispered  into  her  ear  "  Minny,  he  will  stay  with  us 
now,  forever,  and  wiU  never  leave  us."  Perhaps, 
too,  the  whisper  was  not  unheard  >)y  Remmy — and 
it  would  be  a  difiicult  point  to  decide  whether  or  not 
it  were  intended  to  reach  his  car,  as  well  as  Minny's. 
And  then,  all  that  both  had  to  learn.  There  was  so 
much  to  be  told  on  both  sides.  All  that  Carroll 
cared  to  know  was  this — that  he  loved,  and  that  his 
love   was   warmly   returned.     A    thousand   times, 


136  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

that  evening,  and  forever,  did  Marj  exclaim  against 
herself  for  not  having  recognized  him  immediately, 
and  a  thousand  times  smilingly  aver,  that,  from  his 
changed  appearance  and  studied  efforts  at  conceal- 
ment, the  recognition  was  all  but  impossible.  And 
then  they  sat  together,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  eyes 
looking  into  eyes,  until  an  hour  far  into  the  night, 
talking  of  old  times  and  present  happiness,  and  fu- 
ture hopes.  And  they  spoke,  too,  of  the  good  old 
man  who  had  passed  away,  in  the  fulness  of  years, 
into  the  far  and  better  land.  Old  memories  were 
revived,  brightened  by  new  hopes.  Oh,  how  happy 
they  were !  it  was  the  very  luxury  of  love — the  con- 
centrated spirit  of  passion,  purified  by  suffering,  and 
tried  by  absence — the  repayment,  in  one  brief  hour, 
for  years  of  doubt,  pain,  and  sorrow. 

At  last  came  the  time  to  part ;  but  with  it  came 
the  certainty  of  a  speedy  meeting.  The  next  day, 
and  day  after  day,  until  that  arrived  when  holiest 
rites  made  them  man  and  wife,  Remmy  Carroll  was 
to  be  found  by  the  side  of  his  beloved  Mary  Mahony ; 
and  soon,  when  the  news  of  his  return  were  noised 
about,  crowds  came  to  see  him,  and  far  and  near  was 
spread  the  announcement  that  a  wedding  was  on  the 
tapis.  General  was  the  surprise — general,  too,  the 
satisfaction,  for  the  young  people  were  universal 
favorites,  and  time  and  circumstances  had  removed 
the  principal  objections  which  even  the  worldly- 
minded  might  have  raised  to  the  anion  of  Mr.  Bartle 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  137 

Mahony's  daughter  and  heiress  to  one  who,  a  few 
jears  before,  had  occupied  a  position  in  society  so 
much  beneath  her.  It  was  universally  conceded  that, 
in  every  sense,  the  match  was  extremely  suitable  and 
proper;  but  Eemmy  and  Mary  did  not  require  popu- 
lar opinion  to  sanctify  their  attachment.  They  were 
all  in  all  to  each  other. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Mary  Mahony  was 
allowed  to  continue  ignorant  of  the  vicissitudes 
through  which  Remmy  Carroll  had  passed.  He  told 
his  story,  and 

"  She  gave  him  for  his  tale  a  world  of  sighs." 

It  may  be  expected  that  of  this  tale  some  notice 
he  here  given.  But,  in  very  truth,  those  who  look 
for  a  romantic  elucidation  of  the  mysterious  disap- 
pearance, and  prolonged  absence,  and  unexpected  re- 
turn of  Remmy  Carroll,  will  be  greatly  disappointed. 
The  main  incidents  were  simple  enough,  and  here 
they  are. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  Remmy  had  act^d  as 
escort  to  Minahan,  on  their  return  from  that  wedding 
at  which  the  Piper  had  made  his  last  professional 
appearance.  He  had  found  some  difficulty  in  pilot- 
ing his  companion  along  the  high  road  from  Rath- 
•cormac  to  Fermoy ;  and,  indeed,  when  they  reached 
the  mountain,  Minahan,  in  a  fit  of  drunken  obsti- 
Jiacy,    would  throw  himself  upon  the  heathy  sward, 


138  BITS   OF   BLAKXEY. 

where,  in  a  few  minutes,  he  was  fast  in  the  gentle- 
bonds  of  sleep.  Remmy  Carroll,  having  accompa- 
nied him  so  far,  did  not  like  to  leave  him,  and  sat 
down  beside  him  to  watch  for  his  awakening,  with 
the  purpose,  also,  of  seeing  that  he  fell  into  no  mis- 
chief. But,  after  a  time,  from  the  combined  influ- 
ences of  the  fresh  air,  want  of  rest,  and  what  he 
had  partaken  at  the  wedding,  Remmy  found  himseir 
quite  unable  to  keep  his  eyes  open.  He  was  con- 
scious that  sleep  was  creeping  over  him,  and  so, 
taking  off  his  pipes,  for  fear  that  he  might  injure 
them  by  lying  upon  them,  he  carefully  placed  them 
upon  the  grass,  beside  him,  and  resigned  himself  to 
slumber. 

On  awaking,  he  found — to  his  excessive  amaze- 
ment— ^that  he  was  lying  "  on  the  sunny  side  of  a 
baggage-cart,"  with  his  head  reposing  on  the  lap  of 
a  soldier's  Avife.  In  reply  to  his  inquiries,  he  was 
recommended  to  take  it  coolly,  and,  at  any  rate,  not 
to  make  any  noise  until  they  reached  Glanmire,  about 
^  four  miles  from  Cork,  to  which  city  he  was  informed 
that  he  was  bound.  When  the  cavalcade  of  baggage- 
carts  and  soldiers  reached  Glanmire,  he  was  summa- 
rily acquainted  with  the  novel  information  that  he 
had  been  duly  enlisted  as  a  recruit,  and  his  informant 
— a  fierce-looking,  hook-nosed,  loud-voiced  martinet 
of  a  Sergeant — asked  him  to  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  and  that  would  satisfy  him  that  he  had  regu- 
larl}^  and  irrevocably  become  attached  to  the  military 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  131> 

service  of  "  liis  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King  George 
the  Third."  Accordinglj,  Eemmy  did  as  he  was 
desired,  and  in  the  pocket  as  aforesaid  found  a  bright 
shilling,  Avhich  certainly  had  not  been  there  on  the 
previous  night  —  more  particularly,  as  tenpenny 
pieces  were  the  current  coin  in  Ireland  at  the  period. 
To  llenimy's  possession  of  the  solitary  shilling, 
among  a  little  handful  of  tenpenny  and  fivepenny 
pieces  (the  sum-total  realized  by  his  performance  at 
the  wedding),  the  modern  Sergeant  Kite  triumphantly 
appealed  in  proof  that  he  had  been  regularly  enlisted. 
It  is  needless  to  observe  that,  of  this  transaction, 
Remmy  Carroll — albeit  the  person  chiefly  concerned 
— had  not  the  slightest  recollection.  He  appealed 
to  one  of  the  officers,  and  was  told  that,  if  the  Ser- 
geant said  he  was  enlisted,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  the  fact,  and  that  his  Majesty  was  fortunate  in 
having  obtained  such  a  promising  recruit,  as  the 
regiment  Avas  on  the  eve  of  embarkation.  His  re- 
monstrances, and  denials,  and  appeals,  were  in  vain. 
The  significant  hint  was  added,  that  death  was  the 
punishment  usually  awarded  for  desertion.  So, 
making  a  virtue  of  necessity — the  more  so,  as  he 
perceived  that  he  was  so  strongly  and  suspiciously 
watched  that  flight  would  have  been  useless — he 
had  no  alternative  but  to  proceed  to  Cork  with  the 
regiment,  as  cheerfully  as  he  could,  and,  in  despite 
of  himself,  as  it  were,  was  duly  attested,  magistrates 
not  being  very  particular  in  those  days.     To  all  his 


110  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

-assertions,  that  li3  had  not  the  slightest  recollection 
■of  having  been  enlisted,  the  rejjly  was  that,  if  he 
could  procure  a  substitute,  thej  did  not  require  his 
•company — ^but  to  do  this  was  impossible. 

In  a  few  days,  the  regiment  embarked  for  the 
Peninsula,  and  his  friend,  the  Sergeant,  told  him  on 
the  voyage,  as  an  excellent  joke,  in  what  manner 
they  had  trepanned  him — namely,  that,  as  the  regi- 
ment was  passing  by  the  mountain,  early  in  the 
morning,  en  route  for  embarkation,  one  of  the  officers 
who  rode  above  the  highway  (for  the  road  is  literally 
•cut  out  of  and  into  the  hill)  had  noticed  E,emmy  and 
Minahan  asleep,  and  had  remarked  what  an  admi- 
rable soldier  the  former  would  make ;  Minahan,  it 
seems,  was  thought  nothing  of,  being,  like  Othello, 
"  declined  into  the  vale  of  years."  The  remark  was 
taken  as  a  hint,  and  Remmy  was  removed,  even  as 
he  was,  fast  asleep,  to  one  of  the  baggage-carts,  with 
the  least  possible  delay.  The  details  of  the  trans- 
action had  been  executed  by  the  Sergeant,  who 
■chuckled  over  this  narrative,  piquing  himself  not 
a  little  on  the  dexterity  of  the  trick. 

Carroll  was  unable  to  write  to  Mary  Mahony,  on 
account  of  what  had  befallen  him,  being  afraid  of 
his  letter  falling  into  other  hands  than  her  own. 
lie  did  write  to  Minahan,  in  the  hope  that,  in  that 
circuitous  way,  Mary  might  obtain  a  knowledge  of 
his  misadventure.  The  letter,  if  ever  posted,  never 
■came  to  hand,  and  thus,  for  more  than  six  weary 


THE   PETEIFIED   PIPER.  141 

years,  Mary  Maliony  in  particular,  with  tlie  inhabit- 
ants  of  Fermcy  in  general,  was  profoundly  ignorant 
of  Remmy's  fate. 

It  was  fortunate  that  Remmy  was  of  that  easy 
temperament  which  takes  the  world  as  it  finds  it,, 
readily  accommodates  itself  to  circumstances,  and 
Avisely  acts  on  the  sensible  aphorism,  "  what  can't 
be  cured  must  be  endured."  While  he  bitterly 
lamented  his  enforced  absence  from  the  girl  of  his 
heart^ — -just  at  the  crisis,  too,  when  he  learned  that 
he  occupied  an  enviable  position  in  hei  affections — 
he  knew  that  all  the  regrets  in  the  world  would  not 
bring  him  one  furlong  nearer  to  her.  He  deter- 
mined to  make  the  best  of  his  situation.  In  a  short 
time  he  even  came  to  like  it.  Good  conduct,  good 
tamper,  and  his  ability  to  read  and  write,  soon  rec- 
ommended him  to  his  superiors,  and  obtained  his 
promotion  to  the  rank  of  Sergeant.  In  this  capacity^ 
he  contrived  to  save  a  sum  of  money,  which,  in  for- 
mer years,  he  would  have  considered  quite  a  treasure, 
and  which,  at  any  rate,  was  sufficiently  large  as  to 
warrant  its  possessor  against  the  imputation  of  for- 
tune-hunting, should  he  return  to  Ireland,  find 
Mary  !Mahony  unmarried,  and  pay  his  addresses  to 
her. 

When  the  short  peace  of  1814  was  made,  the 
regiment  in  which  Remmy  served  returned  to  Eng- 
land, and  Remmy  made  application .  for  his  dis- 
charge, and  would  have  purchased  it  if  he  could  not 


142  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

procure  it  by  other  means.  But  immediately  came 
the  renewal  of  war,  by  the  return  of  Napoleon  from 
Elba,  and  Eemmy's  regiment  was  one  of  the  first  to 
return  to  the  Continent.  In  the  battle  of  AVaterloo, 
JRemmy  received  a  severe  wound  in  the  left  arm, 
which  rendered  amputation  nec^^ssary,  after  prolonged 
and  painful  sufferings.  At  length,  he  was  able  to 
return  to  England,  with  a  handsome  gratuity  for  his 
"wound,  and  a  respectable  pension,  which,  with  what 
he  had  already  picked  up  "in  the  wars,"  really 
made  him  quite  a  man  of  independent  means.  His 
plea  of  poverty  had  been  only  a  ruse  to  try  the 
strength  of  the  maiden's  affection.  But,  in  her  eyes, 
of  much  greater  value  than  his  hoard  or  his  pension 
was  a  testimonial  of  courage  and  character  given 
him  by  his  Colonel,  and  especially  countersigned  by 
the  Duke  of  Wellington,  who  had  personally  noticed 
his  conduct  during  the  six  years  he  had  been  in  the 
-service.  Great  pride,  be  sure,  had  Carroll  in  hand- 
ing over  this  precious  document  to  Mary  Mahony. 
Many  tears  did  she  shed  over  the  vicissitudes  which 
had  earned  it — but  tears  will  flow  from  bright  eyes, 
Asdion  there  is  a  handsome  lover  at  hand  to  kiss  them  off. 
The  wedding  followed,  in  due  course.  Such  a 
wedding !  that  of  Camacho  was  a  fool  to  it.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Carroll,  it  is  true,  violated  the  ur,age  of 
Irish  society  (of  their  rank  of  life)  by  quitting  the 
farm,  on  a  honeymoon  excursion,  shortly  after 
Father   Barry   had  united    them  "for  better,  for 


THE   PETRIFIED   PIPER.  143 

•^vo^se,"  as  it  was  fully  expected  that,  according  to 
the  immemorial  custom  among  the  extensive  class 
which  embraces  all  ranks  from  the  wealthy  farifier 
to  the  poor  peasant,  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
-should  have  presided  at  the  nuptial  feast,  opened 
the  post-prandial  festivities  by  leading  off  the  dance, 
and  finally  gone  through  the  loosening  the  bride's 
garters,  and  be  followed  by  the  ceremonial  of  her 
^'  throwing  the  stocking."  But,  except  during  the 
performance  of  the  nuptial  service,  the  company  at 
Carrigabrick  farm  saw  little,  on  that  day  of  days,  of 
either  Remmy  Carroll  or  his  fair  and  faithful  help- 
mate. Enough,  however,  for  the  gay  bachelors  to 
adinire  the  beauty  (now  bright  with  happiness)  of 
the  bride,  while  the  Waterloo  medal  and  the  Water- 
loo wound  of  our  hero  won  him  favor  in  the  eyes 
and  from  the  lips  of  all  the  womankind  who  were 
"  on  their  promotion."  Despite  the  speedy  flight  of 
"the  happy  couple,"  the  rites  of  hospitality  were 
duly  celebrated  in  their  homestead,  and,  indeed,  a 
general  holida}''  was  kept  in  the  neighborhood.* 
The  warmth  of  Irish  hearts  had  its  eflfervescence  on 
that  occasion,  and  it  wished  an  infinity  of  joy  to 
Remmy  Carroll  and  his  bride. 

About  this  time,  Minahan's  character  for  veracity 
fell  into  disrepute,  it  being  pretty  clear  that  Remmy 
Carroll  was  anything  but  a  petrifaction  —  at  least 
Mary  Mahony's  testimony  would  go  a  great  way  to 
disprove  that  imputation.     But  there  ever  are  peo- 


144  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

■*■ 
pie  who  will  manfully  maintain  the  superiority  of 
the  ideal  over  the  real,  and  a  few  of  these,  vegetat- 
ing at  Fermoy,  used  to  shake  their  heads  when 
Remmy  Carroll  walked  by,  and,  having  said,  all 
along,  that,  beyond  all  doubt,  some  supernatural 
agency  had  removed  our  hero,  think  themselves 
somewhat  aggrieved  in  the  unromantic  common- 
place explanation  of  his  enforced  absence.  To  the 
hour  of  his  death,  Minahan  was  ready  to  say  or 
swear  that  lie  had  told  no  more  than  the  truth — or 
an  equivalent  for  the  truth — and  was  wont  to  ap-^ 
peal,  when  in  his  cups  (which  was  whenever  he  had 
anything  to  put  into  them),  to  Carroll's  good  fortune 
in  proof  of  the  advantageous  influence  of  fairy 
favor.  He  had  a  few  semi-converts — who  believed 
that  Remmy  Carroll  was  as  much  petrified  as  Phil 
Connor.  Indeed,  without  any  very  remarkable  de- 
velopment of  the  organ  of  marvellousness,  I  think 
so  too. 

It  but  remains  to  add  that,  in  due  season,  Mr. 
'and  Mrs.  Carroll  returned  to  their  farm.  Remmy 
never  more  played  the  pipes  save  for  his  own 
amusement  (as  the  Marquis  of  Carrabas'  cat  caught 
mice),  and  he  and  his  wife  lived  happily  together^ 
after  their  many  trials.  One  of  their  family  is  set- 
tled in  the  State  of  New  York,  and  doing  well. 


THE  GERALDINE. 


A  MOURNFUL  wail,  all  sad  and  low,  like  the  murmur 

which  the  breeze 
On  an  Autumnal  eve  might  make  among  the  sere- 
leaved  trees, — 
Then  a  rapt  silence,  soul  subdued ;  a  listening  silence 

there. 
With  earnest  supplicating  eyes,  and  hand-clasped 

hush  of  prayer. 
Talk  not  of  grief,  till  thou  hast  seen  the  tears  which 

warriors  shed, 
Where  the  chief  who  led  them  on  to  fame  lies  al  • 

most  of  the  Dead  ; 
Where  the  eagle  eye  is  dim  and  dull,  and  the  eagle 

spirit  cold; 
Where  fitfully  and  feebly  throbs  the  heart  which 

was  so  bold, — 
Thou  might'st  have  fancied  grief  like  this,  if  ever  it 

were  thine, 
To  hear  a  minstrel  sing  the  deeds  of  the  valiant 

Geraldine. 
7 


146  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

U. 

Where  is  tliat  gallant  name  unknown?  wherever 

Valour  shone, 
Wherever  mightiest  chiefs  were  named,  the  Geral- 

dine  was  one ; 
Wherever  Eriiu  s  banner  waved,  the  Geraldine  was 

there, 
Winning  honour  from  his  prince's  praise,  and  favor 

fmm  the  fair, — 
But  now  his  course  is  closing,  for  his  final  hour  has 

come, 
And,  like  a  peaceful  peasant,  'tis  his  hap  to  die  at 

home. 
The  priest  hath  been  to  shrive  him,  and  the  leech 

hath  been  to  tend. 
And  the  old  man,  with  a  Christian  heart,  prepared 

to  meet  his  end : 
"  It  is  God's  will,  the  Abbot  says,  that,  unlike  to  all 

my  line, 
I  should  die,  not  on  the  battle-field,"  said  the  gal- 
lant Geraldine. 


III. 

Within  his  tent  the  warrior  lay,  by  his  side  his 

children  three ; 
^here  was  Thomas,  with  the  haughty  brow,  the 

Lord  of  Offaley ; 


THE   GERALDLNE.  147 

There  was  gentle  Ina,  wedded  to  proud  Desmond's 

gallant  son ; 
There  was  Richard,  he  the  youngest  bom  and  best 

beloved  one. 
Xord  Thomas  near  his  father  stood,  fair  Ina  wept 

apace, . 
Toung  Richard  by  the  couch  knelt  down  and  hid 

his  pale,  sad  face ; 
He  would  not  that  the  common  eye  should  gaze 

upon  his  woe, 
Nor  that  how  very  much  he  mourned,  his  dying  sire 

should  know; — 
_But  the  old  man   said,    "My  youngest  bom,  the 

deepest  grief  is  thine," 
And  then  the  pent-up  tesars  rained  fast  on  the  face 

of  Geraldine. 

IV. 

"  Lead  out  my  steed — ^the  Arab  barb,  which  lately, 
in  Almaine, 

1  won  in  single  combat,  from  a  Moorish  lord  of 
Spain, — 

And  bring  my  faulchion  hither,  with  its  waved 
Damascene  blade, 

In  temper  true,  and  sharpness  keen  as  ever  armourei 
made. 

Thou  seest,  my  son,  this  faulchion  keen,  that  war- 
horse  from  the  plain. 


148  BITS  OF  BLAKNET. 

Thou  hearest  tliy  father's  voice,  wHcli  none  may^ 

ever  hear  again ; 
Thou  art  destined  for  the  altar,  for  the  service  of  the- 

Lord, 
But  if  thy  spirit  earthward  tend,  take  thou  the  steed 

and  sword. 
Ill  doth  it  hop,  when  human  thoughts  jostle  with 

thoughts  divine, 
Steel  armour,  better  than  the  stole,  befits  a  Geral- 

dine!" 


V. 


"My  father,  thou  hast   truly   said: — ^this   soaring- 
spirit  swells 
Beyond    those    dreary   living    tombs — jon     dark 

monastic  cells. 
The  cold  in  heart  and  weak  in  hand  may  seek  their 

pious  gloom, 
And  mourn,  too  late,  the  hapless  vow  which  cast 

them  such  a  doom: 
Give  me  the  flashing  faulchion  and  the  fiery  steed 

of  war— 
The  shout — the  blow — the  onset  quick  where  serried 

thousands  are. 
Thine  eldest-born  may  claim  and  take  thy  lordship* 

•    and  thy  land, 
I  ask  no  more  than  that  bold  steed,  this  good  sword' 

in  my  hand. 


THE   GEKALDINE.  149 

To  win  the  fame  that  warriors  win,  and  haply  to 

entwine. 
In  other  lands,  some  honours  new  round  the  name 

of  Geraldine." 

VI. 

Flashed  then  into  the  Chieftain's  eyes  the  light  of 

other  days, 
And  the  pressure  of  the  old  man's  hand  spoke  more 

than  words  of  praise : 
■**So  let  it  be,  my  youngest-born!  thine  be  a  war- 
rior's life, 
And  may  God  safely  speed  thee  through  thy  coming 

deeds  of  strife. 
Take  knighthood  from  thy  father's  sword,  before 

his  course  be  run, — 
Be  valiant,  fortunate,  and  true ;  acquit  thee  as  my 

son ! 
My  harper  here  ? — ere  life  depart,  strike  me  some 

warlike  strain ; 
Some  song  of  my  own  battle-field  I  would  hear  once 

more  again : 
Unfurl  the  silken  Sunburst*  in  the  noontide's  golden 

shine, 
Jn  death,  even  as  in  pride  of  life,  let  it  Wave  o'er 

Geraldine !" 

*  "  The  Sunburst,"  says  Moore,  "  was  the  fanciful  name  given 
by  the  ancient  Irish  tc  the  royal  banner." 


160  BITS  OP  BLARNEY. 


VII. 


The  banner  fluttered  in  the  breeze,  the  harper's  straia 

went  on, 
A  song  it  was  of  mighty  deeds  by  the  dying  Chiefs 

tain  done. 
At  first  he  listened  calmly, — ^the  strain  grew  bold 

and  strong, — 
Like  things  of  life  within  his  heart  did  Memory's 

quick  thoughts  throng : 
Louder  and  stronger  swelled  the  strain,  like  a  river 

in  its  course ; 
From  his  couch  the  Chieftain  started, — "To  horse !"^ 

he  cried,  "to  horse !" 
And  proudly,  like  a  warrior,  waved  his  sword  above 

his  head : 
One  onward  step — one  gurgling  gasp — and  the  Chie*. 

is  of  the  Dead ! 
The  harper  changed  his  strain  to  grief:  the  Coro- 
nach was  thine. 
Who  died,  as  thou  hadst  lived,  a  Man,  oh  mighty 

Geraldine ! 


CAPTAIN    EOCK. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   WAKE, 

The  year  1822  was  remarkable  for  being  what 
in  Ireland  was  called  "  A  Whiteboy  Year."  Eents 
were  only  paid  by  compulsion.  Titbes  were  not 
paid  at  all.  Wages  were  low.  The  price  of  food 
was  bigh.  The  middleman  system  bad  been  on  the 
increase,  year  after  year,  until  the  land  and  people 
were  crushed  under  it.  The  priests  from  the  altar, 
and  O'Connell,  from  the  tribune  and  through  the 
press,  earnestly  argued  the  masses  not  Xo  rebel,  no 
matter  how  great  the  aggravation,  how  intense  the 
despair,  and  the  advice  had  great  weight  in  most 
instances.  Many  causes  combined  to  render  the 
peasantry  ripe  for  revolt. — As,  on  one  side,  there 
were  not  wanting  men  able  and  willing  to  act  as 
leaders  in  any  popular  movement ;  so,  on  the  other, 
tliere  was  no  lack  of  Government  spies  to  fan  the 
flame,  to  cajole  the  peasantry  into  breaches  of  the 
law,  and  to  betray  those  whom  they  thus  had 
duped. 


152  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

The  discontented  and  disaffected  were  principally 
concentrated  in  my  native  county  of  Limerick.   From 
time  to  time,  the  military  force  in  that  county  had 
been  augmented,  until,  at  the  particular  period  in 
question  (1822),  there  were  several  regiments  of  in- 
fantry, and  at  least  one  of  cavalry,  on  harassing 
duty.     What  between  still-hunting  (for  the  manu- 
facture of  mountain-dew  was  then  in  full  operation) 
and  man-hunting,  the  military  had  full  occupation 
day  and  night.     Various  pretexts  were  used,  also, 
to  weary  the  military,   by  putting  them  upon  a 
false    scent,    every   now    and    then,   so    that    the 
service    was    particularly    severe    and    fatiguing. 
Added  to  the  military  array  was  the  Constabulary 
force,  introduced  by  the  late  Sir  Eobert  (then  Mr.) 
Peel,  while  Secretary  for  Ireland,  the  members  of 
which,  after  his  name,  have  obtained  the  sobriquet 
of  "  Peelers."     An  active  and  efficient  body  of  men 
these  Peelers  were,  and  are,  although  the  force,  from 
its  original  establishment,  has  been  unpopular  in 
Ireland — probably  owing  to  its  very  activity  and 
efficiency.     Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  undeniable  that 
while  the  bulk  of  the  Irish  people,  of  all  classes,  cor- 
dially have  fraternized  with  the  soldiery,  they  have 
ever  manifested  a  strong  dislike  to  the  police.     This 
unfriendly  feeling,  too,  has  sometimes  been  fostered 
by  many  who,  from  their  station,  might  be  expected 
to  entertain  gratitude,  and  exercise  courtesy,  towards 
these  protectors  of  their  lives  and  property. 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  153 

"Whiteboyism  continued  to  increase,  notwithstand- 
ing the  strong  military  and  police  force  poured  into 
the  district.  Detachments  of  infantry  were  quar- 
tered in  almost  every  hamlet — the  cavalry,  called 
"here,  there,  and  everywhere,"  upon  true  and  false 
alarms,  were  dreadfully  overworked.  At  last,  as  a 
necessary  matter  of  protection,  two  or  three  Peelers 
were  quartered  in  almost  every  respectable  country 
house  in  certain  disturbed  baronies.  The  whole 
county  was  in  a  dreadful  state  of  alarm,  excite- 
ment, and  activity.  The  newspapers,  of  course, 
"were  filled  with  reports  and  rumors  of  all  kinds,  and 
the  Whiteboy  doings  in  the  South  of  Ireland  had 
•even  the  honor  of  being  spoken«of,  in  no  very  com- 
plimentary terms,  in  both  Houses  of  Parliament. 

These  Whiteboy  movements,  although  not  con- 
fined to  one  part  of  the  county  Limerick,  were  re- 
marked as  chiefly  occurring  on  that  side  which  is 
bordered  by  the  county  Cork.  In  a  little  time,  they 
might  be  said  to  radiate  from  a  particular  district, 
spreading  into  what,  from  its  extent,  has  been  called 
""The  Yorkshire  of  Ireland."  As  they  increased^ 
more  troops  were  called  in,  to  subdue  insurrection 
and  enforce  order.  All  this  was  in  vain.  A  regular 
guerilla  warfare  began  to  prevail,  chiefly  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  the  arms  of  the  military  and 
police. 

It  becanie  no  uncommon  event  for  a  sentry,  at  a 
coun/ry  station,  to  be  quietly  picked  out  by  the 


154  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

steady  hand  and  sure  aim  of  a  Whiteboy — the  sliot 
which  gave  his  death  being  at  once  the  sole  an- 
nouncement  and  fatal  evidence  of  the  tragic  deed^ 
The  service  thus  became  so  desperate  that  there  arose- 
4XB.  evident  reluctance,  on  the  part  of  the  military,  to- 
continue  on  such  alarming  and  perilous  duty.  De- 
sertions became  frequent.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
police  doggedly  did  their  duty.  Of  a  much  higher 
grade  than  the  ordinary  rank  and  file  of  the  army — 
for  no  man  was  allowed  to  enter  or  remain  in  the 
force  without  an  excellent  character  and  a  certain, 
degree  of  education — they  had  a  high  estimate  of 
their  daty,  and  a  stubborn  determination  to  perform 
it.  Thoy  knew,  also,  that  the  peasantry  hated 
them,  and  that  even  the  thankless  gentry,  whora 
they  protected,  did  not  bear  any  affectionate  regarc* 
for  them. 

The  Rifle  Brigade  was  on  duty,  in  the  disturbed 
district,  at  the  time  which  I  have  mentioned.  The 
officer  in  command  was  Major  Eeles,  an  English, 
port-drinking  officer  of  the  old  school,  who  had  fixed 
his  own  quarters  at  The  Grove  (near  Ballingarry,), 
formerly  the  seat  of  Colonel  Odell,  the  member  for 
the  countv,  and  remarkable  as  being  the  father  of 
about  twenty  sons,  by  one  wife.  The  most  fatiguing 
and  unpleasant  office  which  the  soldiers  had  to  per- 
form was  that  of  night-patrolling.  The  laws  of  that 
time  were  harsh — ^indeed,  like  all  other  Coercion 
Acts,  they  had  been  expressly  framed  to  put  down^ 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  155- 

the  disturbances — and  provided  that  the  mere  fact 
of  a  man's  being  found  out  of  his  house,  between, 
sunrise  and  sunset,  should  be  punishable  with  seven 
years'  transportation.  This  severe  enactment  put  a 
great  check,  of  course,  upon  nocturnal  predatory 
gatherings,  but  many  an  innocent  man  suffered  from 
the  harshness  of  the  law.  A  strong  feeling  of  hos- 
tility arose  against  the  Rifle  corps,  for  their  activity 
in  apprehending  the  suspected.  This  was  greatly 
augmented  by  what,  under  any  circumstances,  might 
be  considered  an  ''untoward  event."  One  of  the 
peasantry  had  been  met  on  the  high  road  after  dark, 
and  challenged  by  the  patrol.  Not  giving  a  satis 
factory  answer,  his  instant  apprehension  was  ordered 
by  the  officer  in  command.  Attempting  to  escape, 
he  was  in  the  act  of  jumping  across  a  deep  drain 
which  divided  the  high-road  from  the  bog,  when  a 
sergeant  drew  a  pistol  from  his  belt  and  shot  him  on 
the  spot. 

The  unfortunate  man  was  not  a  "W^hiteboy.  On, 
the  contrary,  he  had  steadily  resisted  the  solicita 
tions  of  many  neighbours  who  were.  He  had  seen 
better  days,  and  had  received  rather  a  good  educa 
tion.  Knowing  the  peril  of  joining  the  illegal  com. 
binations,  and  daring  the  danger  of  being  considered 
lukewarm  in  what  was  called  "the  cause  of  his 
country,"  he  had  kept  himself  aloof  from  proceed- 
ings, which  he  did  not  approve  of,  but  scorned  to^ 
betray.     His  family  had  been  subjected,  for  months 


166  BITS   OF   BLARiNKV'. 

past,  to  the  severe  privations  whicli  poverty  causes 
•everywhere,  but  particularly  in  Ireland.  His  wife 
-had  been  extremely  ill,  and  on  her  sudden  change 
for  the  worse,  his  affection  had  naturally  got  the 
worse  of  his  personal  fear,  and  he  had  ventured  out, 
-after  dusk,  to  solicit  the  aid  of  the  nearest  dispensary 
doctor,  when,  challenged  by  the  militarj^,  he  sought 
safety  in  flight,  and  had  met  Avith  his  untimely  fate 
AS  I  have  described. 

Those  who  know  anything  of  the  peculiar  customs 
■of  the  South  of  Ireland,  must  be  aware  that  the 
peasantry  have  especial  delight  in  doing  honor  to 
the  dead.  To  celebrate  a  "wake"  is,  with  them,  a 
social  duty.  They  usually  take  that  mode  of  testi- 
fying, in  a  merry  mood,  their  grief  for  the  departed. 
The  unfortunate  victim  of  military  impetuosity  was 
carried  to  the  nearest  public-house  on  the  way-side, 
and  when  it  was  related  how  he  had  lost  his  life, 
"curses  not  loud,  but  deep,"  most  unequivocally  in- 
dicated the  popular  feeling  that  he  was  a  murdered 
man.  Nor  was  this  feeling  mitigated  by  the  "justi- 
fiable homicide"  verdict  of  the  Coroner's  jury. 

Entertaining  such  opinions,  it  was  not  likely  that 
his  relativ^js  and  friends  would  solicit  as  a  favor,  at 
the  hands  of  his  slayers,  "leave  to  keep  the  wake." 
They  did  not  ask  it.  Perhaps  they  had  little  feai 
that,  in  the  present  instance,  their  ancient  and  time- 
honoured  custom  would  be  interfered  with.  Accord- 
ingly they  took  leave,  and  a  numerous  concourse  of 


CAPTAIX   ROCK.  IST" 

the  people  assembled,  after  dusk,  on  the  day  of  the 
inquest,  in  the  cabin  of  the  deceased. 

To  one  who  loved  the  picturesque,  the  scene- 
would  have  been  interesting,  for  it  contained  all 
variety  of  countenance,  costume,  and  manner.  But 
it  possessed  an  mtenser  and  far  deeper  interest,  for 
him  who  had  studied  the  human  heart,  its  passionate 
throes,  its  indignant  feelings,  its  wild  energies,  its 
strong  convulsions,  its  lacerated  affections.  There 
lay  the  corpse,  a  crucifix  at  its  head  and  twelve 
mould  candles  on  a  table  at  its  feet.  By  the  bed- 
side knelt  the  widow — actually,  by  an  unnatural 
excitement,  rendered  temporarily  convalescent  by 
the  sharp  flict  that  she  had  lost  the  husband  of  her 
heart.  By  the  corpse,  on  the  opposite  side,  sat  their 
only  child,  a  lad  of  few  years,  apparently  uncon- 
scious of  the  extent  of  the  calamity  which  thus  early 
had  orphaned  him.  A  professional  Keener  (like 
the  "hired  waQing  women  "  of  Scripture)  was  ranged 
on  either  side  of  the  deceased,  awaiting  a  full  audi- 
ence for  the  similated  grief,  and  now  and  then  mut- 
tering fragments  of  their  intended  Lament.  Around 
the  liumble  apartment — for  the  peasant's  cabin  con- 
sisted of  only  a  single  room — were  ranges  of  stools, 
three  deep,  and  here  and  there  were  deal  tables,  on. 
which  were  placed  tobacco-pipes,  and  "the  mate- 
rials" for  the  refreshment  and  enjoyment  which,  by 
a  strange  contrast  with  the  awful  occasion  which 
called  tbem  together,  were  considered  indispensable. 


158  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Such  a  thing  as  a  dry  Wake  would  indeed  have 
been  an  anomaly,  there  and  then. 

The  friends  of  the  dead  man  dropped  in  stealthily, 
.and  at  intervals — for  there  was  some  uncertainty 
whether  the  military  would  permit  such  an  assem 
blage.  Before  long  the  room  was  crowded,  all  fear 
•of  being  interfered  with  gradually  vanished,  and  the 
party,  albeit  assembled  on  a  melancholy  occasion, 
soon  glided  into  conversation,  smoking,  and  drink. 

There  was  no  merriment,  however,  for  the  cir- 
•curastances  under  which  they  met  forbade  it — so 
■early  in  the  night.  Their  conversation  was  in  a 
hushed  tone.  The  comparative  stillness  every  now 
-and  then  became  positive  when  they  noticed  the 
voiceless  sorrow  of  the  poor  widow,  as,  pale  and 
emaciated  by  suffering  of  mind  and  body,  she  knelt 
yj  the  dead,  holding  his  clay-cold  hand,  and,  her 
3yes  fixed  upon  his  comely  face,  now  pallid  with 
4;he  hue  of  mortality,  and  placid  in  repose  as  that  of 
u  sleeping  infant.  At  intervals,  there  rose  the 
melancholy  and  eloquent  wail  of  the  Keeners'  wild 
poetry,  in  the  native  language  of  the  auditors,  deeply 
impassioned,  and  full  of  the  breathing  indignation 
which  stirs  men's  minds  to  such  a  pitch  of  excite 
ment  that  they  come  forth  from  the  listening  fitted 
for  almost  any  deed  of  daring. 

The  Keen  told  how  the  dead  man  had  won  the 
hearts  of  all  who  knew  him — how  he  had  excelled 
4iis  companions  in  the  sports  of  youth  and  the  athletic 


CAPTAIN    ROCK.  159 

<3xorcises  of  rnanliood — how,  at  pattern,  fair,  or  dance, 
he  still  maintained  his  superiority — ^how  his  was  the 
■open  heart  and  liberal  hand — how  he  had  won  hi? 
iirst  love,  the  pride  of  their  native  village,  and 
married  her — how,  when  a  shadow  fell  upon  their 
fortunes,  that  loved  one  lightened,  by  sharing,  the 
burthen,  the  struggle,  and  th%  grief — ^how,  amid  the 
desolation,  her  gentle  smile  ever  made  a  soft  sunshine 
in  their  home — ^how,  a  victim  without  a  crime,  he  had 
foUen  in  the  noon  of  life — ^how  there  remained  his 
voung  boy  to  remember,  and,  it  might  be,  one  day 
to  avenge  his  murder — how  every  man  who  was 
present  would  protect  and  sustain  the  widow  and 
the  orphan  of  him  whom  they  had  loved  so  well — 
^nd  how,  come  it  soon  or  late,  a  day  would  arrive 
when  expiation  must  be  made  for  the  foul  deed  which 
had  sent  an  innocent  man  to  an  untimely  grave. 

As  the  chief  Keener  chanted  this  Lament,  in  the 
expressive  and  figurative  language  of  their  native 
Ireland,  the  hearts  of  her  auditory  throbbed  with 
<leep  and  varying  emotions — sorrow  swelled  into  the 
deeper  sense  of  injury — wild  indignation  flushed  the 
cheek  of  manhood — and  hand  Avas  clasped  in  hand 
with  a  fierce  pressure,  in  well-understood  pledge  of 
sorrow  for  the  dead,  hatred  for  his  slayers,  and  stern 
resolve  of  vengeance. 

About  ten  o'clock,  the  door  slowly  opened,  and  a 
tall  man,  apparelled  in  the  loose  great-coat,  or  coat-a- 
more,  which  forms  the  principal  dress  of  the  peasanlTj 


160  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

in  tliat  district,  stood  for  some  minutes  on  the  thres- 
hold, an  interested  but  unobserved  spectator.  When 
he  was  perceived,  many  rose  to  offer  him  a  seat,  which 
he  declined,  and  soon  all  voices  joined  in  a  common 
cry  of  "  Welcome,  Captain  !  A  thousand  and  a  hun- 
dred thousand  welcomes!" 

The  stranger  returned  the  salutation  cordially  and 
briefly,  and  advanced  gravely  and  slowly  to  where 
the  dead  man  lay.  He  gazed  upon  the  face  for  some, 
time,  and  then,  laying  his  hand  on  that  cold,  pallid 
brow,  said,  in  a  tone  of  deep,  concentrated  feeling, — 
"  Farewell,  John  Sheehan !  Yours  has  been  a  hard 
fate,  but  better  than  remains  for  us — to  be  hunted 
down,  like  wild  beasts,  and  sent,  after  the  mockery 
of  a  trial,  jfrom  the  homes  of  our  fathers,  to  a  far-off 
land,  where  even  the  slavery  they  doom  us  to  is  better 
than  the  troubled  Hfe  we  linger  in,  from  which  caprice 
or  cruelty  may  hurry  us  in  a  moment.  Farewell, 
then ;  but,  by  the  bright  Heaven  above  us,  and  the 
green  fields  around,  I  swear  to  know  no  rest  until 
bitter  vengeance  be  taken  for  this  most  wanton  and 
barbarous  murther." 

His  cheek  flushed — ^his  eyes  flashed — ^his  fram.e 
trembled  with  strong  emotion  as  he  sternly  made 
this  vow,  and,  when  he  ceased  to  speak,  a  deep 
"Amen"  was  murmured  all  around  by  the  eager- 
eyed  men,  who  hung  upon  his  slightest  word  with, 
as  trusting  and  entire  a  faith  as  ever  did  the  followers 
of  the  Veiled  Prophet  upon  the  mystic  revelations. 


CAPTAIN  ROCK.  161 

Avhich  promised  them  glory  upon  earth,  and  eternal 
happiness  in  heaven  !  The  widow,  roused  from  the 
abstraction  of  grief  by  this  solemn  and  striking  in- 
cident, looked  the  thanks  which  she  then  had  not 
voice  to  utter.  When  the  Stranger  laid  his  hand  on 
the  orphan's  head,  and  said :  "  He  shall  be  my  care, 
and  as  I  deal  by  him  may  God  deal  by  me !"  her 
long-repressed  tears  gushed  forth,  in  a  strong  hysteric 
agony,  which  was  not  subdued  until  her  child  was 
placed  within  her  earnest  embrace,  and  kissed  again 
and  again  —  with  the  Avidowed  mother's  solacing 
thought,  there  yet  remained  one  for  whom  to  live. 

Turning  from  the  corpse,  the  Stranger  took  his 
seat  among  the  humble  but  loving  people  in  that 
lowly  cabin.  He  was  of  large  mould,  with  a  bold, 
quick  glance,  and  an  air  of  intelligence  superior  to 
his  apparent  station.  It  was  singular  that  his  ap- 
pearance among  them,  while  it  ardently  awakened 
their  respectful  attention,  had  chilled  and  checked 
the  company.  After  a  pause,  one  of  them  ventured 
to  hint  that  the  first  allowance  of  liquor  had  been 
drank  out,  so  that  "there  did  not  remain  an  egg- 
shellful  to  drink  the  health  of  the  Captain."  There 
was  a  murmur  of  applause  at  the  remark.  Thus 
encouraged,  another  ventured  to  suggest  that  a  fresh 
supply  be  provided,  at  the  general  expense  of  the 
company — the  gallantry  of  the  men  excepting  the 
fair  sex  from  any  share  in  the  payment.  The  neces- 
sary amount  was  speedily  collected,  and  a  supply  oi 


162  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

whiskey  (^whicli  had  not  condescended  to  acknow- 
ledge the  reigning  dynasty  by  any  contribution  to 
the  excise  duties)  was  procured  from  the  next  shebeen 
• — an  unlicensed  depot  for  the  sale  of  "mountain 
dew," — and  plaead  upon  the  table. 

The  stranger,  who  had  appsared  quite  unobservant 
of  this  proseeding,  and  who — on  the  principle  that 
•'silenae  gives  coussnt" — had  even  been  supposed 
rather  to  sanction  than  condemn  it,  suddenly  inter- 
rapted  the  hilarious  arrangements  thus  commenced. 
He  started  up  and  exclaimed  —  "Is  it  thus,  and 
always  thus,  that  I  am  to  find  you? — the  slaves 
and  victims  of  your  besotted  senses.  Is  there  any- 
thing to  ba  done  ?  I  look  for  the  man  to  do  it,  and 
find  him  sunk  in  drunkenness.  Is  a  secret  to  be 
kept  ? — it  is  blabbed  on  the  highway,  to  the  ruin  of 
a  good  cause,  by  the  man  who  suffers  drink  to  steal 
away  his  reason.  When  I  lie  down  to  sleep,  I  can 
dream  of  ruin  only,  for  this  subtle  devil  can  tempt 
the  truest  into  a  traitor.  And  now,  with  the  hour 
of  triumph  at  hand — the  rich  hope  of  vengeance 
near  fulfilment — there  is  not  a  man  among  you, 
"bound  to  me  as  you  are,  heart  and  hand,  soul  and 
l3ody,  who  would  not  surrender  the  victory  and  the 
vengeance,  if  he  were  only  allowed  to  drink  on  until 
he  had  reduced  himself  to  a  level  with  the  senseless 
brute.     Give  me  that  liquor." 

His  command  was  instantly  obeyed,  for  he  had 
rare  ascendancy  over  the  minds  of  those  who  ac- 


.  CAPTAIN    ROCK.  163 

'knowledged  him  as  their  leader.  Dashing  the  vessel 
Tiolently  on  the  hard  earthen  floor,  he  broke  it,  and 
-every  drop  of  its  contents — the  "  fire-water"  of  the 
American  aborigiaes — was  spilled.  "  There,"  he 
•cried,  "  w'ho  serves  with  me,  must  obey  me.  When 
3.  deed  is  to  be  done,  I  will  have  obedience.  When 
the  deed  is  done — drink,  if  you  will,  and  when  you 
will.  But  when  service  is  to  be  performed,  you  shall 
be  sober." 

Not  a  syllable  of  dissent — not  a  murmur  of  dis- 
content fell  from  the  lips  of  those  who  heard  him. 
Not  a  gesture — not  a  look — indicated  anger  at  what 
he  had  done. 

"  Mark  me,  my  lads,"  he  added.  "  I  have  arranged 
:all  beyond  the  chance  of  defeat.  I  have  contrived  to 
turn  the  main  strength  of  the  soldiers  on  a  wrong 
-scent  four  miles  on  the  other  side  of  Charleville.  I 
have  laid  my  plans  so  that  we  cannot  be  disappointed, 
except  through  some  fault  of  our  own.  Let  us  on  to 
Ohurchtown  Barracks.  The  sergeant,  by  whose  rash 
and  ready  hand  our  friend  has  died,  remains  there 
with  a  handful  of  his  comrades.  He  was  sent  thither 
to  escape  us.  Fools'  as  if,  for  those  who  have  a 
wrong  to  avenge,  any  spot  can  be  too  remote.  Let 
us  seize  him,  and  give  him  the  doom  he  gave  the 
innocent.  If  they  resist,  we  can  fire  the  barracks, 
^nd  burn  them  in  their  nest.  But  they  will  never 
be  so  mad  as  to  oifer  resistance  to  such  a  force  as 
ours,  when  we  tell  that  we  want  only  that  one  man. 


164  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

If  the  J  do — their  blood  be  upon  their  own  heads^ 
Who  joins  me?  Who  will  follow  to  the  cry  of 
*  On  to  Churchtown  ?'  Xow  is  the  long-desired 
hour  of  revenge.     Will  any  lag  behind?" 

Every  man  present  repeated  the  cry — "On  to 
Churchtown !"  Some  of  the  women  also  joined 
in  it. 

The  Whiteboys  and  their  leader  left  the  cabin. 
An  ancient  crone,  almost  a  reputed  witch,  anl  cer- 
tainly l^nown  to  be  by  far  the  oldest  woman  in  the 
district,  hobbled  after  them  as  far  as  the  door,  and 
threw  her  shoe  after  them — "  for  luck !" 

Many  a  "God  speed  them"  was  breathed  after  that 
company  of  avengers  by  young  and  fair  women. 
What  Lord  Bacon  has  called  "the  wild  justice  of 
revenge,"  and  what  America  recognizes  in  the  unseen 
but  omnipotent  incarnation  of  Judge  Lynch,  was 
necessarily  the  rule  of  action  when  injured  Eight 
took  arms  against  tyrannic  Might.  Is  it  surprising 
that  such  should  be  the  case  ?  If  wrongdoers  can- 
not always  be  rewarded,  "each  according _unto  his 
works,"  within  and  by  the  law,  why  should  not  theii' 
impunity  be  broken  down  by  the  rational  sense  of 
justice  which  abides  in  the  minds  of  men? 

Forth  on  their  mission,  therefore,  did  the  White 
boys  speed.    Hurrying  across  the  bog,  they  reached 
a  farm  which  was  almost  isolated  amid  the  black 
waste  from  which  it  had  been  indifferently  "reclaimed^ 
They  drew  muskets,  pist/)ls,  and  pikes  from  the  turf- 


CAPTAix  rock:.  165 

rick  in  wliicli  thej  had  been  concealed.  Some  ol: 
them  brought  old  swords,  and  scythe-blades  attached 
to  pike-handles  (very  formidable  weapons  in  the  hands 
of  strong,  angry  men),  from  hiding-places  in  the  bog 
itself  Stealthily,  and  across  by  paths  unknown  to 
and  inaccessible  to  the  military,  that  wild  gang,  "  with 
^vhom  Eevenge  was  virtue,"  pushed  forward  for  the 
rattack  on  Churchtown  Barracks. 


CHAPTER     II. 

THE    LEADER. 

Stealthily  and  in  silence  the  Whiteboys  pro- 
Kjeeded  to  the  scene  of  intended  operation.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken — not  a  sound  heard,  except  the 
noise  of  their  footsteps  whenever  they  got  on  the 
high  road.  As  much  as  possible  they  avoided  the 
highway,  the  course  which  would  the  soonest  bring 
them  to  the  appointed  place.  It  would  seem  as  if 
their  leader  had  bound  them  together,  by  some 
spell  peculiarly  their  own,  to  yield  implicit  and  un- 
questioned obedience  to  his  imperious  will.  It 
strongly  illustrated  the  aphorism — 

''  Those  who  think  must  govern  those  who  toil." 

Whoever  knows  how  lively  and  mercurial  is  the 


166  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

natural  temperament  of  the  peasantry  in  the  Soatb 
of  Ireland,  must  be  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  re. 
straining  them  from  loud-voiced  talking  in  the  open 
air ;  but  now  not  »ne  of  that  large  and  excited 
gathering  spoke  above  his  breath.  Their  leader 
command<?d  them  to  be  silent,  and  to  them  his  will 
was  law. 

Who  was  that  leader?  The  question  involves 
some  mystery  which  it  may  be  as  well  to  unveil 
before  proceeding  with  the  action  of  this  narrative. 

Who,  and  whence  was  that  leader?  His  birth, 
would  have  secured  him  a  "respectable"  station  in 
society,  if  his  wild  passions,  and  the  strong  pressure 
of  Circumstance  (that  unspiritual  god),  had  not  so  far 

"  Profaned  his  spirit,  sank  his  brow," 

that  the  ambition  which,  under  better  auspices,  might 
have  soared  to  the  highest  aims,  was  now  directed 
no  farther  than  to  establish  an  unstable  dominion 
over  a  few  wild,  uncultivated  peasants,  who,  like- 
fixe  and  water,  might  be  excellent  servants,  but 
with  any  opportunity  of  domination  would  probably 
prove  tyrannic  masters.  He  who  would  rule  the- 
rude  peasantry  of  Ireland,  must  make  up  his  mind 
to  be  governed  by  them  in  turn,  whenever  his 
wishes  and  aims  and  actions  fall  short  of  theirs. 
They  will  go  with  him  while  his  desires  and  designs 
run  together  with  their  own,  but  they  will  speedily 
leave  him  behind,  or  force  him  with  them,  if  they 


CAPTAIN   KOCK.  167 

■find  him  less  eager  than  themselves.  Even  under 
whe  regular  discipline  of  the  army  the  same  may  be 
observed.  In  battle  an  Irish  regiment  cannot,  or 
rather  will  not,  understand  any  order  to  retreat. 
They  repudiate  all  strategy  which  even  appears  to 
withdraw  them  from 

"  The  triumph  and  the  vanity, 
The  rapture  of  the  strife,"  , 

and  show,  by  the  gallant  impetuosity  with  v/hich 
they  plunge  into  the  attack,  that  their  proper  action 
is  assault.  If  so  under  the  harsh  restrictions  of 
military  discipline,  what  must  it  be  when  freed  from 
that  coercion  ? 

The  leader  of  the  Whiteboys  in  1822— the  ver- 
itable Captain  Rock,  whom  I  have  introduced  at 
the  Wake  of  the  slain  John  Sheehan — was  no  com- 
mon man.  His  birth  had  been  respectable,  his  edu- 
cation good,  his  fortune  had  been  ample,  his  mind 
was  affluent  in  varied  and  vigorous  resources;  he 
had  formerly  won  favor  and  fame  from  the  world's 
opinion,  and  few  men  in  any  country  could  com- 
pete with  him  in  the  personal  advantages  which 
spring  from  manly  beauty  of  form  and  feature,  ac- 
tivity of  bod}^,  and  a  strength  of  frame  which  liter- 
ally defied  fatigue  and  over-exertion. 

The  father  of  John  Cussen  was  "  a  gentleman  of 
independent  fortune,"  in  Irish  parlance;  that  is,  had 
succeeded  to  a  pretty  good  estate,  and  would  have 


BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

been  in  easy,  if  not  affluent  circumstances,  could  he 
have  realized  any  thing  like  the  nominal  amount  of 
his  rent-roll.  But  there  were  two  difficulties,  at 
least.  Irish  estates  have  had  a  fatal  facility  in  be- 
coming subjected  to  such  things  as  mortgages,  which 
relentlessly  absorb  certain  annual  amounts  in  the 
shape  of  interest,  and  Irish  tenants  have  been  apt  to 
cherish  the  idea  that  they  perform  their  duty  towards 
society  in  general,  and  themselves  in  particular,  by 
paying  as  little  rent  as  possible.  Still,  though  Mr. 
Cussen's  property  had  gradually  come  under  the 
pressure  of  these  two  causes,  it  yielded  an  income 
sufficient  for  his  moderate  wants.  •  His  children  had 
died,  one  by  one,  in  the  very  bloom  and  promise  of 
their  youth,  until,  out  of  a  numerous  family,  only 
one  son  survived. 

This  youth,  possessing  a  mind  more  active  and 
aspirations  more  ambitious  than  most  of  his  class, 
disdained  the  ordinary  routine  of  every- day  life.  It 
was  not  difficult  to  persuade  his  father  to  permit 
him  to  go  into  the  world — the  military  and  naval 
service,  from  its  danger,  being. the  only  profession 
which  that  doting  parent  positively  forbade  him  to 
tliink  of.  The  lad,  after  wavering  for  some  time, 
determined  to  become  a  surgeon,  and  proceeded  to 
pursue  his  studies  in  Dublin. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  narrate  into  what  a  circle 
of  extravagance,  while  thus  engaged,  the  young 
man  became  gradually  involved ;  it  would  be  pain- 


CAPTAIN   EOCK.  16!) 

fill  to  trace  his  downward  lapse  from  folly  to  vice. 
Sufficient  to  say  that,  by  the  time  he  received  his 
diploma  as  a  surgeon  (having  passed  his  examina. 
tions  with  unexpected  and  even  distinguished  suc- 
cess), he  had  contrived  to  involve  himself  so  deeply 
that  his  paternal  property  had  to  be  additionally 
mortgaged  to  relieve  him  from  heavy  involvements. 
His  father,  who  might  have  repudiated  the  cred- 
itor.s'  claims,  admitted  them,  without  a  murmur. 
Eager  to  snatch  him  from  the  haunts  and  the  society 
by  which  he  had  embarrassed  his  means  and  in- 
jured his  health,  and  looking  on  the  military  ser- 
vice as  a  good  school  of  discipline,  even  if  it  were, 
not  free  from  peril,  his  father  overcame  all  personal 
scruples,  forgave  the  past,  and  looking  hopefully  at 
the  future,  successfully  employed  his  influence  to 
obtain  for  him  an  appointment  as  surgeon  to  one  of 
the  regiments  which,  just  then,  had  been  ordered  to 
Belgium,  as  the  re-appearance  of  Napoleon,  and  his 
triumphant  progress  from  Elba  to  Paris — his  eagle 
"  flying  from  steeple  to  steeple  until  it  alighted  on 
the  tower  of  Notre  Dame  " — had  awakened  the  fears 
and  enmity  of  Europe,  bringing  once  more  into  action 

"  All  quality, 
Pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war." 

It  was  John  Cussen's  fortune  to  reach  the  scene  of 
warfare  in  time  to  witness  the  deadly  struggle-  at 
Waterloo.     But  it  was  his  hap,  also,  to  do  more 
8 


170  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

than  witness  it.  He  performed  an  act  of  heroism 
on  the  field,  which  not  only  gained  him  high  and 
merited  praise,  but  had  powerful  influence  upon  his- 
future  prospects. 

Military  discipline  very  properly  provides  that 
the  surgeons  of  a  regiment  shall  not  take  part  in  any 
engagement  on  the  field.  The  lives  of  so  many 
may  depend  upon  the  skill  of  even  a  single  surgeon 
that  it  would  be  inconvenient,  to  say  the  best  of  it,, 
if,  when  his  aid  were  promptly  required,  during  an. 
encounter,  it  were  found  that  he  had  allowed  his 
ardor  to  carry  him  into  the  actual  peril  of  the  strife. 
,  Cussen  was  sufficiently  near  to  witness  the  greater 
part  of  the  contest  on  the  day  of  Waterloo.  It  was 
not  without  difficulty  that  his  quick  Irish  spirit 
could  control  the  almost  overwhelming  desire  to- 
plunge  into  the  middle  of  the  contest — which,  on. 
that  day,  had  more  single  encounters  than  any  since 
Poictiers  and  Agincourt.  As  he  stood  outside  a. 
tent  which  had  been  placed  for  the  use  of  the  medi-^ 
cal  staff,  in  the  rear  of  the  British  position,  he  ob- 
served an  English  officer,  on  an  unmanageable- 
charger  (bearing  him  along  with  an  impetuous 
speed,  which,  having  received  a  severe  wound  in 
the  bridle-arm,  he  could  neither  control  nor  check),  . 
followed  by  a  French  cuirassier,  who  had  nearly 
overtaken  him.  Another  moment  and  the  uplifted 
sabre  would  have  struck  the  helpless  man  to  the- 
ground.     Cussen  rushed  forward,  literally  tore  tlia 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  171. 

Freuchman  from  Ms  saddle,  by  main  strength,  and, 
wresting  the  sword  from  his  hand,  gave  him  a  death- 
wound.  Quick  as  thought,  turning  from  the  fallen 
foe  and  bounding  forward  with  an  agility  which  he 
had  acquired  on  his  native  hills,  Cussen  followed  the 
swift  horse,  and  succeeded,  by  a  strong  and  over- 
mastering grasp,  in  checking  its  speed.  In  its  rider^ 
he  recognized  his  own  Colonel,  whose  life  he  had 
thus  doubly  saved,  and  received  a  grateful  assurance 
that  his  service  should  not  be  forgotten. 

Having  dressed  the  Colonel's  wounds,  Cussen  re- 
sumed his  position  in  the  rear. — But  inaction  was. 
terrible  to  one  whose  spirit  had  been  awakened  to- 
the  excitement  before  him  —  for  "quiet  to  quick 
bosoms  is  a  bane."  Nearer  and  nearer  became  his 
involuntary  approach  to  that  part  of  the  place  in 
which  the  contest  was  hotly  proceeding.  At  last,, 
unable  any  longer  to  resist  the  passionate  impulse, 
he  mounted  on  one  of  the  many  war-steeds  which 
were  wildly  galloping  over  the  battle-field,  caught 
the  eye  of  the  officer  whom  he  had  rescued,  rushed 
forward  to  join  the  miUe^  and  bravely  fought  side 
by  side  with  him,  when  the  "  Up,  Guards,  and  at 
them!"  of  Wellington  urged  on  the  soldiers  to  that 
last  terrific  charge  which  shook  the  imperial  diadem 
from  the  brow  of  the  first  Napoleon. 

A  gallant  deed,  even  though  it  violate  the  strict 
rides  of  military  discipline,  is  not  considered  a  very 
heinous  ofi'ence  by  any  commander.     So,  while  his: 


172  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Oolonel  liailed  John  Cussen  as  preserver,  the  brief 
lapse  of  duty  as  a  surgeon  was  forgiven,  in  consider* 
ation  of  his  chivalry  as  a  soldier. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE. 

The  war  ended.  Napoleon  fell.  St.  Helena  re- 
ceived the  imperial  exile.  On  this  lonely  rock,  far 
out  in  the  Atlantic,  the  chained  Prometheus  suffered 
a  punishment  worse  than  death — Sir  Hudson  Lowe 
being  the  vulture  which  continually  struck,  to  prey 
upon,  his  heart. 

The  conclusion  of  the  war  influenced  the  fortunes 
of  others  besides  its  greatest  victim.  The  battalion 
in  which  Cussen  had  served  was  reduced,  and,  with 
many  others,  his  occupation  was  gone.  While  yet 
uncertain  what  course  to  pursue,  he  received  an  invi- 
tation from  his  late  Colonel,  very  urgently  pressing 
him  to  visit  the  veteran  at  his  country  seat  in  Hamp- 
shire ;  and  thither  he  j)roceeded. 

Cussen,  it  may  here  be  stated,  was  what  old  crones 
(who  are  good  judges  of  such  things,  knowing  "a 
liawk  from  a  hernshaw")  would  simply  and  expres- 
-sively  describe  as  "  a  very  personable  man."     He 


CAPTAIN  EOCK.  173- 

was  in  the  spring  of  earlj  manhood.  He  had  the 
advantage,  whatever  that  might  be,  of  gentle  blood ; 
he  had  recjeived  a  good  education ;  he  had  distin- 
guished himself  in  the  greatest  battle  of  the  age ; 
above  all,  he  had  saved  the  life  of  the  gallant  officer 
whose  guest  he  was.  What  wonder,  therefore,  if, 
before  he  had  been  quite  a  month  at  Walton  Hall, 
the  bright  eyes  of  Miss  Walton  beamed  yet  m.ore 
brightly  when  they  met  his  admiring  glances. 

The  lady  was  young — not  decidedly  lovely,  per- 
haps, but  that  most  charming  of  all  charming  crea- 
tures, a  thoroughly  English  beauty.  She  might  not 
immediately  dazzle,  but  she  wa^  sure  alwaj^s  to  de- 
light. It  was  impossible  to  see  and  not  admire  her. 
Besides,  she  had  been  largely  endowed  with  intel- 
lect by  bounteous  nature,  and  had  also  been  well 
educated,  carefully  rather  than  brilliantly.  With 
an  undeniable  dash  of  romance  in  her  character,  she 
was  so  pure  in  heart  and  thought,  that  the  very 
novelty  of  such  purity  threw  such  a  spell  of  enchant- 
ment upon  the  fevered  passion  of  John  Cussen,  that 
literally,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  his  soul  was 
subdued  into  a  tenderness  which  contrasted  strange- 
ly, but  not  unpleasantly,  with  the  wild  tumults — 
rather  of  sense  than  soul — which,  in  former  days,  he 
had  been  wont  to  dignify  with  the  name  of  Love. 

When  he  ascertained  such  to  be  the  state  of  his 
own  feelings,  he  became  very  anxious  to  learn 
"whether  Alice  Walton  was  affected  in  like  manner. 


174  Brrs  of  blarney. 

Her  impressions  appeared  to  be  very  mucli  as  lie 
•desired,  for,  kissing  that  fair  cheek,  which 

"  Blushed  at  the  praise  of  its  own  loveliness,' 

and  whispering  hope  to  her  anxious  ear,  he  pro- 
•ceeded  to  explain  to  her  father  all  that  he  felt — to 
solicit  his  sanction  for  the  love  which,  but  just  con- 
fessed to  each  other,  had  suddenly  been  matured  by 
that  confession  into  a  passion  at  once  deep  and 
ardent. 

Alice  Walton  was  an  only  child.  What  other 
result,  then,  can  be  anticipated  than  the  usual  one — ■ 
•the  favorable  reception  of  the  avowal  made  by  Cus- 
sen?  Affection  raises  few  difficulties  where  the  hap- 
piness of  the  beloved  is  felt  to  be  deeply  involved. 
It  is  questionable  whether,  on  that  evening,  a  hap- 
pier group  could  have  been  found  anywhere  within 
the  limits  of  "merry  England."  The  old  soldier, 
pleased  with  the  opportunity  of  keeping  his  gallant 
preserver  with  him  while  also  securing  the  happi- 
ness of  his  daughter ; — the  young  man  exulting  in 
iiis  conquest,  proud  of  the  personal  and  mental  en- 
dowments of  his  lady-love,  and  firmly  resolving  never 
to  give  her  any  cause  to  repent  having  yielded  to 
the  trusting  affection  which  her  guileless  nature  had 
formed  for  him ; — the  maiden  herself,  with  the  day- 
dream of  love  making  an  almost  visible  atmosphere 
of  joy  around  her  heart,  softly  yielded  to  glad  and 
.genial  anticipations  of  a  happy  future.     Well  is  it 


CAPTAIN   BOCK.  .  175 

that  Woman's  heart  can  thus  luxuriate  in  imagina- 
tion, for,  in  many  cases,  the  romance  of  their  love 
is  far  brighter  than  the  reality  ever  proves  to  be. 

Some  arrangements  which  were  to  be  made  re- 
specting his  family  property,  and  a  natural  desire 
personally  to  communicate  his  favorable  prospects 
to  his  father,  required  that  Cussen,  now  an  accepted 
suitor,  should  proceed  to  Ireland  for  a  short  time. 

Imagine  the  parting.  The  endearing  caresses — 
the  gentle  beseechings  for  full  and  frequent  let- 
ters— the  soft  promises  as  to  faithful  remembrances 
— ^the  whispers  of  that  mutual  affection  upon  which 
a  few  brief  months  would  put  the  seal — and  the 
"Farewell,"  which,  though  dewed  with  tears,  had 
not  very  much  of  real  sorrow  in  it,  so  sweetly  did  it 
realize  the  expressive  lines  of  the  poet,  of  the  part- 
ing, though  sad,  which 

"  Brought  the  hope  that  the  morrow 
Would  bring  back  the  blest  hour  of  meeting  again !" 

Cussen  arrived  in  Ireland  just  in  time  to  see  his 
father  die,  and  to  learn  that  old  involvements,  and 
the  early  extravagance  in  which  himself  had  rioted, 
had  reduced  their  estate  to  a  nominal  income.  The 
greater  part  of  its  produce  had  been  swallowed  up  by 
interest  payable  to  the  mortgagees,  who,  from  time  to 
time,  had  advanced  money  on  the  property.  In  this 
dilemma,  Cussen  did,  from  impulse,  what,  had  he 
acted  simply  on  calculation  only,  would  have  been 


176  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

tile  very  best  thing  for  him.  Without  loss  of  time^ 
he  frankly  communicated  with  Colonel  Walton  on 
this  unpromising  condition  and  aspect  of  his  affairs 
and  prospects — assured  him  that,  when  he  sued  for 
his  daughter's  hand,  he  had  not  the  least  idea  that 
he  was  so  near  the  condition  of  a  ruined  man — ^that 
his  father,  when  discharging  the  liabilities  in  which 
his  early  extravagance  had  involved  him,  had  never 
breathed  a  syllable  of  the  price  at  which  they  were 
to  be  swept  away — that,  almost  beggared  as  he  now 
was,  he  felt  himself,  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  any- 
thing but  a  match  for  Alice — and  that,  while,  with 
a  breaking  heart,  he  absolved  her  from  the  tender 
vows  which  she  had  made,  he  still  cherished  a  hope 
that  even  yet,  pass  a  few  years,  he  might  be  able  to- 
achieve  a  position,  by  the  exercise  of  his  talents, 
which,  once  again,  would  permit  him,  on  a  more 
equal  footing  than  at  present,  to  solicit  a  renewal  of 
their  betrothal.  The  Colonel  was  brief  and  decisive. 
He  thanked  Cusseu  for  his  frank  and  honourable  con- 
duct, assuring  him  that  Alice,  as  well  as  himself,  fully 
appreciated  his  motives ;  declared  that  for  his  daugh- 
ter's sake,  as  well  as  his  own,  he  was  unwilling  to 
.relinquish  the  intended  alliance  with  his  preserver 
and  friend ;  and  liberally  gave  the  kindest  promise* 
of  such  full  and  immediate  assistance  as  would  spee- 
dily relieve  the  estate  from  its  enc\"»m^ianofc,f* — 
should  it  indeed  be  thought  expedi^-ut  t<i  T^\ia>  ^t 


CAPTAIN  ROCK.  177 

the  reversion  of  the  invaluable  "Walton  Hall  prop- 
erty inalienably  belonging  to  Alice. 

Before,  by  the  fulfilment  of  this  promise,  Cussen's 
hrighter  prospects  could  be  realized,  "the  tenth 
ware  of  human  misery  swept"  over  his  heart.  There 
cams  a  sad  reverse.  I  am  acquainted  with  all  the 
details,  but  they  are  too  melancholy  to  be  related 
here.  Let  it  be  sufficient  to  say  that  Alice  AValton 
and  her  father  met  with  a  sudden  and  tragic  doom. 
By  an  accident,  the  origin  of  which  was  suspected, 
but  never  ascertained,  their  residence  was  consumed 
by  fire — father  and  daughter  perishing  in  the  flames. 
The  estate  passed,  in  due  course  of  law,  to  the  next 
of  kin,  with  whom  Cussen  had  no  acquaintance,  and 
upon  whom  he  had  no  claim  In  due  course  of  law, 
also,  the  mortgages  on  Cussen's  own  property  were 
foreclosed.     He  was  a  ruined  man. 

The  cup  of  misery  overflowed.  Very  bitter  did 
Cussen  find  the  draught.  Hopes  blighted — the 
golden  promise  of  his  young  manhood  wholly  de- 
stroyed— station  utterly  lost — Poverty  with  her  feet 
upon  his  hearthstone — all  .that  made  the  value  of 
life  swept  away  at  once.  Amid  the  maddening 
whirl  of  such  contending  emotions  as  this  desolation 
caused,  no  wonder  if  even  his  strong  mind  and  large 
frame  bowed  beneath  the  shock. 

Months  passed  by,  and  bodily  health  was  in -a 
measure  restored.  But  the  mind  did  not  recover  its 
elastic  spring.  Sunk  in  the  torpor  of  despair,  John 
8* 


178  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

Cussen  was  a  broken  man.  Then  came  the  reaction, 
after  a  time,  and  then  he  awoke  to  the  sad  reality  of 
life.  Better  far  had  he  continued  unconscious  or 
despairing.  He  might  have  been  miserable,  but  he 
would  have  been  unstained  by  guilt.  Gradually,  he 
found  a  Lethe  for  his  sad  thoughts,  by  passing  "  the 
Eubicon  of  the  cup."  At  first,  while  this  was  being 
done  in  secret,  the  neighboring  gentry  made  many 
efforts  to  arrange  his  affairs,  liberate  him  from  his 
more  pressing  pecuniary  involvements,  and  give  him 
the  opportunity  of  realizing  an  adequate  income  by 
the  practice  of  his  profession.  Each  proffered  kind- 
ness was  rejected.  He  sat,  another  Timon,  with  his 
household  gods  shivered  around  him. 

This  could  not  long  continue — for  man  cannot  live 
without  society.  By  degrees  Cussen  returned  to  the 
haunts  and  the  companionship  of  man.  Had  he  kept 
within  the  pale  of  his  own  class,  perhaps  all  might 
still  have  been  well.  But  a  change  had  passed  over 
and  darkened  his  mind.  He  fancied  that  scorn  sat 
upon  the  lip  and  glanced  from  the  eye  of  every  one 
more  wealthy  than  himself,  and  thus  Pride  guided 
the  arrow  which  Poverty  barbed.  He  shunned  the 
society  of  those  to  whom,  in  all  save  wealth,  he  had 
l^een  equal,  at  the  very  least,  and  he  found  a  conso- 
lation in  the  company  of  those  who,  remembering 
his  birth  (and  in  no  place  is  that  memory  so  well 
retained  as  in  Ireland),  would  have  considered  him 
as  their  superior,  even  if,  like  them,  he  had  to  till 


CAPTAIN    ROCK.  179 

the  earth  for  a  bare  subsistence.  Thus,  by  a  slo\r 
but  certain  process  of  deterioration,  John  Cussen — 
■once  the  pride  of  the  order  of  fashion  and  wealth  in 
his  native  country— gradually  became  the  associate 
«f  the  ignorant  and  excitable  peasantry. 

Mixing  with  these  poor  people, — ^then,  as  ever, 
dissatisfied  with  their  condition,  and  eagerly  anxious 
for  any  change  Avhich  seemed  to  promise  better 
days'  and  brighter  fortunes, — Cussen  soon  became 
thoroughly  identified  with  their  feelings.  Hating 
•oppression,  believing  that  the  peasantry  were  greatly 
wronged  by  absentee  landlords,  oppressive  middle- 
men, and  an  exacting  "  Church  as  by  law  estab- 
lished," he  allowed  himself  to  be  seduced  into  the 
secret  and  illegal  association  of  the  Whit^boys.  The 
homage  which  they  paid  to  his  birth  and  education,  • 
^ave  him  more  satisfaction  than,  at  first,  he  ventured 
to  own,  even  to  himself.  His  pride  was  soothed  by 
finding  himself  yet  looked  up  to  by  any  class.  The 
energy  of  his  character  returned  (in  part),  and  as- 
suming strong  and  unquestioned  command  over  the 
disaffected  peasantry,  he  became  one  of  their  most 
powerful  leaders.  Quick  in  mental  resources,  supe- 
rior in  physical  strength,  his  influence  over  his  fol- 
lowers was  very  great.  Entire  obedience  was  yielded 
to  his  commands,  and  (as  in  the  present  instance, 
wjaen  he  undertook  to  lead  the  attack  upon  Church- 
town  Barracks)  his  presence  was  deemed  sufficient 
to   insure  the  success  of  any  enterprise,  however 


180  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

daring.  In  all  this,  however,  it  is  scarcely  dou'btfu- 
tliat  Jokn  Cussen's  actions  were  those  of  a  man  whose 
mind  had  lost  its  balance.  Sorrow  and  suffering  had 
touched  his  brain,  and  perhaps  this  was  the  vent  which 
prevented  actual  insanity. 

There  was  "method  in  his  madness,"  however, 
for  when  he  entered  upon  this  wild  and  secret  career, 
he  took  care  that  the  movements  which  he  person- 
ally guided  should  be  remote  from  that  part  of  the 
country  in  which  he  was  best  known.  lie  strictly 
forbade  any  of  his  troops  to  indulge  in  drink,  when- 
ever their  co-operation  was  required,  and  on  all  ex- 
peditions which  he  personally  led  (chiefly  for  the- 
purpose  of  obtaining  fire-arms  from  the  houses  of 
country  gentlemen)  he  suited  his  attire  to  that  of' 
his  companions,  and  so  complete  Avas  the  disguise, 
that  none  could  recognize  John  Cussen  as  the  dreaded 
Captain  Rock,  who  scattered  terror  w^herever  he- 
moved. 

The  remarkable  fidelity  which  the  Irish  peasantry 
make  it  at  once  a  matter  of  duty  and  pride  to  pay  to 
their  leaders  against  the  law,  was  Cussen's  chief  pro- 
tection. His  secret  was  well  kept.  None  of  the 
gentry  of  the  county  had  the  slightest  suspicion 
that  Cussen,  in  whom  many  of  them  still  professed 
to  take  an  interest,  was  in  anyway  mixed  up — ^far 
less  as  a  leader — with  the  Whiteboy  movements, 
which  caused  them  so  much  alarm. 

Such  was  John  Cussen,  whom  we  left  leading  a 


CAPTAIN    ROCK.  181 

goodly  company  of  Wliiteboys  to  the  attack  on 
Churchtown  Barracks,  a  military  position  of  much, 
strength  and  some  importance. 


OHAPTEE    lY. 

THE   ATTACK   ON   CHUECHTOWN   BARRACKS. 

The  Whiteboys,  and  their  leader,  reached  Church- 
town  Barracks  about  midnight.  All  was  silent  when 
they  arrived,  except  the  measured  step  of  the  senti- 
nel. Darkness  covered  all  things  as  with  a  pall. 
But  Cussen  knew  every  inch  of  the  ground,  and  the 
darkness,  instead  of  being  an  impediment,  was  rather 
auxiliary  to  his  purpose.  He  posted  his  men  in 
a  favorable  position,  and,  within  ten  minutes  of  their 
-arrival,  everything  was  ready,  and  every  one  fully 
instructed  as  to  his  particular  line  of  action,  and  was 
prepared  for  the  manner  of  the  attack. 

Churchtown  Barracks,  in  the  centre  of  a  very  dis- 
turbed district,  had  formerly  been  the  residence  of  a 
private  gentleman.  When  life  and  property  had 
become  insecure,  afraid  of  the  doom  of  Major  Going, 
•he  had  fled  the  country.  Major  Going,  who  had 
been  not  only  agent  to  the  great  Courtenay  estates 
{Lord  Devon's),  but  also  a  magistrate,  had  made  him- 
self unpopular  in  both  capacities.     He  would  have 


182  BITS  OP    BLARNEY. 

the  rent  duly  paid  at  tlie  appointed  day,  and  lie- 
sometimes  went  out  of  his  way,  from  excess  of  zeal^ 
to  show  his  vigilance  as  a  dispenser  of  justice,  under 
the  law.  After  many  warnings,  which  only  made- 
him  more  exacting  and  more  severe,  he  was  assassi- 
nated.  His  successor,  a  gentleman  named  Hoskins,, 
followed  the  same  track — dignified  by  the  name  oi 
"  the  path  of  duty," — and  shared  the  same  doom.. 
N^ot  without  warning,  for,  weeks  before  that  doom, 
was  inflicted,  he  had  heard  even  his  own  laborers, 
chuunt  the  Whiteboy  doggerel — 

"  Hoskins  and  Going 
Are  nearly  one, — 
Hoskins  is  Gtoixg, 
And  Going  is  gone  !  " 

The  noon-day  assassination  of  two  such  active- 
magistrates,  and  the  increase  of  predial  insurrection, 
in  the  counties  of  Cork  and  Limerick,  so  impera- 
tively called  for  the  allocation  of  a  large  and  perma- 
nent military  force  at  places  in  or  near  the  disturbed 
localities,  that  the  Irish  Government  gladly  occupied 
Churchtown  House,  at  a  high  rent,  as  t-emporary 
barracks.  For  some  months  previous  to  the  night 
when  Cussen  and  his  men  appeared  before  it,  several 
companies  of  infantr5'',  and  two  troops  of  cavalry, 
had  been  stationed  at  Churchtown,  whence,  on  the- 
requisj  ion  of  a  magistrate,  detachments  might  be- 


CAPTAIX  ROCK.  183 

detailed  for  duty,  in  more  or  less  force,  as  circum- 
stances might  appear  to  require. 

With  the  strategy  of  a  clever  leader,  Cussen  had 
contrived  to  render  the  place  comparatively  defence- 
less, by  having  notices  sent  to  the  officer  left  in  com- 
mand, that  there  was  to  be  a  midnight  assemblage 
of  Whiteboys  on  the  other  side  of  Charlcvillc,  and 
that  an  attack,  to  obtain  arms,  was  to  be  made  on  a 
gentleman's  residence  not  far  beyond.  A  strong  de- 
tachment of  infantry  and  cavalry  was  sent  oif,  to 
arrest  the  midnight  conclave,  and  to  defend  the  house 
which  was  to  be  the  object  of  attack. 

The  notice  which  thus  put  the  authorities  on  the 
qui  vive  came  from  a  schoolmaster,  who  was  deeply 
involved  in  the  conspiracy  of  the  Whiteboys,  and 
was  also  in  the  pay  of  Government,  as  a  spy.  He 
had  repeatedly  given  information  to  the  military. 
It  had  been  remarked,  however, — but  more  as  a 
matter  of  curiosity  than  suspicion, — that  while  they 
rarely  gained  anything  but  fatigue  from  sallies  made 
at  his  instigation,  they  never  had  been  successful, 
but  that  outrages  were  pretty  sure  to  be  committed, 
at  the  same  time,  in  a  quarter  opposite  to  that  which 
ho  liad  suggested.  In  truth,  he  was  a  Whiteboy  to 
the  backbone,  and  a  traitor  to  the  authorities  who 
employed  him.  But,  like  most  of  the  peasantry  of 
Limerick  county,  he  was  so  very  plausible  in  man- 
mer,  stolid  in  countenance,  and  impenetrable  in  well* 
acted  simplicity  of  speech  and  act,  that  his  fidelity 


184  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

was  not  distrusted  by  the  magistracy  or  tlie  military; 
The  police  did  not  think  well  of  him. 

The  military  force  at  Church  town  was  large 
enough  to  be  under  the  command  of  a  Field  Officer. 
On  this  occasion  Major  "White,  to  whom  that  respon- 
sible post  had  been  intrusted,  deemed  the  informa- 
tion sufficiently  important  to  place  most  of  his  men 
on  active  duty.  There  remained  in  the  barrack  a 
few  dragoons,  a  score  of  infantry,  and  one  subaltern 
officer. 

Hastily  as  Churchtown  House  had  been  converted 
into  a  military  station,  care  had  been  taken  to  make 
it  assume  something  of  a  garrison  appearance.  A 
stone  wall  had  been  erected  all  around  the  building, 
inclosing  sufficient  space  as  a  barrack-yard,  in  which 
the  soldiers  might  attend  drill,  and  go  through  their 
exercises.  This  wall  was  somewhat  more  than  breast 
high.  As  there  was  a  strong  gate  at  each  side,  the 
place  was  considered  quite  able  to  resist  any  White- 
boy  attack.  But,  indeed,  such  an  act  of  daring  had 
never  been  anticipated.  Who  could  dream  that  those 
who  dreaded  the  lion's  paw  would  voluntarily  rush 
into  his  mouth  ? 

Having  arranged  his  men  for  the  attack,  Cussen 
.  did  not  long  keep  them  inactive.  He  gave  the  word, 
and  a  volley  of  slugs  rattled  against  the  barrack 
windows.  The  alarm  was  as  immediate  as  the  attack 
was  sudden.  The  soldiers  hastily  snatched  up  their 
arms,  hurried  to  the  windows  to  observe  Avhence  came 


CAPTAIX  ROCK.  185 

the  assault,  and  were  "picked  out"  bj  the  quick 
sight  and  sure  aim  of  the  assailants,  so  that  some 
■were  wounded  in -their  very  sleeping-rooms.  Moving 
iDefore  the  lights  in  those  apartments,  the  soldiers 
were  palpable  objects  to  the  armed  men  outside. 

In  a  few  minutes,  the  soldiers  were  arranged  in 
the  barrack-yard,  startled  at  the  unexpected  peril, 
^nd  ready  for  defence.  At  that  instant,  while  await- 
ing the  orders  of  their  ofl&cer,  a  second  volley  was 
fired  upon  them,  and  with  fatal  effect.  The  young 
subaltern  on  duty — ^bewildered  by  the  suddenness 
and  manner  of  this  attack — "  lost  his  head,"  as  the 
saying  is,  and  hurriedly  gave  the  order  to  "  Fire  !  " 
Becoming  rather  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  the 
soldiers  fancied  that  they  saw  their  assailants  outside, 
partly  concealed  behind  the  front  Avail.  Each  sol- 
dier aiming  at  what  he  imagined  to  be  the  head  of  an 
-enemy,  a  straggling  peal  of  musketry  followed.  The 
soldiers  shouted,  and  were  about  re-loading,  when, 
with  fatal  precision,  a  third  shower  of  slugs  and  ball, 
from  the  Whiteboys,  did  tremendous  execution 
Among  them.  The  beleaguered  soldiers  even  then 
had  not  ascertained  from  wliat  quarter  destruction 
was  thus  fiercely  poured  in  upon  them. 

Notwithstanding,  they  bore  themselves  gallantly. 
Men  who  had  faced  death,  in  its  worst  form,  on  the 
field  of  battle,  a  few  years  before,  were  not  likely  to 
•quail  before  such  foes  as  they  knew  must  now  be  be- 
fore them.   The  suspense  was  worse  than  the  reality, 


186  B)TS   OF   liLARNEY. 

for  their  ignorance  of  the  number  and  position  of" 
their  assailants,  caused  doubts  more  dreadful  thao. 
would  have  been  the  actual  knowledge  of  an  ascer- 
tained peiil. 

With  as  little  delay  as  possible,  but  still  only  at  a 
venture,  the  soldiers  fired  a  second  time.  Their  fire 
was  immediately  returned.  By  this  time,  six  sol- 
diers were  killed,  and  ten  lay  severely  wounded  on 
the  ground.  Their  officer — a  gallant  youth  who  had 
been  at  school  six  months  before — was  shocked  and 
surprised  at  seeing  his  men  thus  dropping  around 
him,  taken  in  a  trap,  as  it  were,  and  shot  at  like  sO' 
many  marks.  Feeling  that  it  was  madness  to  remain 
in  their  exposed  situation,  and  anxious  to  give  his 
men  a  chance  for  their  lives,  he  ordered  them  to 
throw  open  the  gates,  and  sally  out  to  meet  their 
enemies  face  to  face,  and  die — if  die  they  must — in 
a  contest  of  man  to  man  and  hand  to  hand. 

Accordingly,  the  much-thinned  military  array,, 
literally 

"  Few,  and  faint,  but  fearless  still," 

divided  itself — ^but  the  alarm  and  surprise  were  great 
when  they  found  it  impossible  to  open  either  of  the 
gates.  In  fact,  aware  that  these  gates  had  been  ab- 
surdly constructed  and  hung  to  open  out  of,  instead 
of  inlo,  the  barrack-yard,  and  anticipating  the  at- 
tenijr  t  to  pass  through  them,  Cussen  had  made  one- 


CAPTAIJS    ROCK.  187 

of  his  few  preliminary  preparations  to  consist  of  the- 
heaping  huge  masses  of  rock  against  them,  so  as  to- 
prevent  their  being  opened  to  allow  egress  to  the  be- 
sieged soldiers. 

This  disappointment  drove  the  military  to  despe- 
ration. When  another  volley  from  without  struck 
down  two  more  of  them,  the  remnant  of  the  party 
were  quite  bewildered,  and  would  have  fled  back 
into  cover,  on  the  sauve  qui  peut  principle,  if  their 
officer,  as  a  last  resource,  had  not  ordered  them  to 
scale  the  walls,  and  boldly  meet  rather  than  fearfully 
retreat  from  the  imminent  peril. 

As  with  one  impulse,  rushing  forward,  they  rapidly 
crossed  the  front  wall.  Here  was  a  new  cause  for 
wonder.  They  found  that  they  had  hitherto  been 
wasting  their  fire.  Cussen,  to  baffle  his  opponents^ 
had  placed  his  men  behind  each  side  wall,  while,  as  a 
decoy,  he  had  made  them  put  their  hats  on  that  in 
front.  Thus,  while  the  fire  of  the  Whiteboys  was 
masked,  that  of  the  military  was  thrown  away  upon 
the  range  of  hats  in  front,  which  were  easily  mistaken 
for  men  behind  the  parapet.    It  was  a  clever  strategy. 

When  the  soldiers  dashed  over  the  barrack-wall, 
they  discovered  the  trick.  The  Whiteboys  then 
rushed  romid  from  their  concealment.  A  struggle 
ensued.  Both  parties  were  highly  infuriated — one 
with  triumj)h,  the  other  with  rage.  The  contest, 
though  destructive,  was  not  of  many  minutes'  con- 
tinuance.     Desperate  as  was   the   bravery  of  the 


188  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

soldiers,  the  overpowering  force  and  courage  of  their 
■opponents  were  resistless.  The  soldiers  had  no  alter- 
native but  to  demand  quarter.  At  that  word,  Cusseu 
instantly  gave  orders  that  the  contest  should  cease. 
Scarcely  any  of  h^s  party  had  even  been  wounded, 
while,  on  the  other  side,  the  young  officer  was  the 
only  one  unharmed.  The  sergeant  who  had  shot 
Sheehan  (as  related  in  the  first  chapter)  was  mortally 
wounded,  and  lay  in  the  barrack-yard,  writhing  in 
agony. 

By  this  time,  the  barrack  had  been  set  fire  to,  and 
the  flames  raged  fiercely.  Dismayed,  defeated,  and 
surrounded  by  their  opponents,  the  soldiers  were 
grouped  together  on  one  side.  Some  twenty  or 
thirty  Whiteboys  had  gathered  around  the  dying 
sergeant,  watching  his  agonies  with  fiendish  joy. 
"  In  with  him !  in  with  him  to  the  fire !  Burn 
liim — ^bum  the  murderer  alive  I"  were  exclamations 
which  burst  from  their  lips,  and  made  the  doomed 
man  shudder  as  he  heard.  Cussen  stood  a  little 
aloof  from  all ;  one  might  have  almost  taken  him 
for  an  unconcerned  looker-on,  as  he  carelessly  stood 
with  his  arms  folded,  a  close-fitting  skull-cap  of 
•dark  fur  upon  his  head,  and  a  narrow  slip  of  crape 
concealing  the  upper  part  of  his  face.  When  the 
AVhiteboys  seized  the  sergeant,  with  the  avowed 
intent  of  casting  him  into  the  flames,  the  young 
•officer  addressed  Cussen,  and  earnestly  entreated  him 
-to  prefer t  so  dreadful  a  deed.      "My  men  have 


CAPTAIX    UOCK.  ISy- 

fallen,"  lie  said,  "  but  I  do  not  know  why  they  were 
attacked.  For  the  love  of  heaven,  do  not  allow  thia 
wretched  man  to  suffer  such  a  death,  in  cold  blood. 
Besides,  he  has  a  mortal  wound.  If  they  want  his 
death,  a  few  hours,  at  the  farthest,  will  gratify  them. 
Do  not  let  him  perish  thus." 

Cussen  answered:  "My  men  came  here  for  re- 
venge upon  that  man,  and  I  can  scarcely  prevent 
tlieir  taking  it  to  the  fullest.  He  deserves  his  death. 
Blood  for  blood !  When  he  shot  an  innocent,  un- 
oftending  man,  as  if  he  were  a  dog,  he  drew  this 
vengeance  on  himself.  Still,  it  need  not  be  pushed 
to  the  extremity  they  call  for,  A  life  for  a  life  is 
all  that  can  reasonably  be  required.  But — what 
cries  are  those?" 

Turning  round,  he  saw  that  the  flames  had  now 
reached  the  stables  in  which  the  horses  of  the 
dragoons  were.  The  poor  animals  were  driven 
almost  to  madness  by  fear,  and  their  dreadful  cries 
came  shrilly  and  fearfully  upon  the  ear,  filling  with 
awe  the  breasts  of  those  wild  men,  who,  while 
human  agony  appealed  in  vain,  shuddered  at  this 
painful  manifestation  of  deep  suffering  by  the  brute 
creation.  Help  was  out  of  the  question,  as  the  flames 
spread  too  rapidly  for  assistance  to  be  rendered.  The 
poor  animals  were  literally  burned  alive,  amid  the 
loudly  expressed  pity  of  the  beholders. 

From  this  tragedy  they  turned  to  the  wounded 
sergeant.    He  had  breathed  his  last  while  this  scene 


190  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

liad  engaged  their  attention.  They  would  not  be 
cheated  out  of  their  revenge.  With  a  yell  of  triumph, 
they  cast  his  corpse  into  the  flames,  amid  a  thousand 
execrations. 

They  thus  had  accomplished  their  work.  Cussen 
turned  to  the  young  officer  and  said :  "  You  are  free ; 
but  you  must  pledge  me  your  word  that  if  you  have 
any  personal  knowledge  of  me,  or  think  that  you 
have,  you  will  never  take  advantage  of  it."  This 
pledge  the  officer  firmly  declined  giving.  Cussen 
paused  for  a  few  seconds,  and  replied  that  it  did  not 
matter:  he  would  draw  off  his  men.  Giving  the 
word,  they  marched  off  in  good  order — were  soon 
•out  of  sight,  and  the  smoking  ruins  and  diminished 
force  remained  as  evidence  of  that  night's  tale  of 
xiiin. 


CAPTAiy    SOCK.  191 

CHAJTERV. 
THE  ATTACK    :)N   R0S3M0RE. 

The  news  that  Churchtown  Barracks  had  been 
burned  down,  and  the  grsf^ter  portion  of"  its  military 
defenders  killed,  spread,  like  wildfire,  through  all 
parts  of  the  kingdom.  Magisterial  and  military  in- 
quiries did  no  more  than  ascertain  the  facts,  but  the 
persons  remained  undiscovrred.  Many  were  arrested 
on  suspicion,  but  the  actual  perpetrators  escaped. 
The  policy  used  was  to  co'lect  them  from  distant 
points,  so  that  domiciliary  visits  from  the  patrols  and 
the  police  in  the  neighbourhood  where  the  outrage 
had  been  committed  found  the  peasantry  within  their 
own  habitations.  Thus  susf  icion  was  diverted  and 
detection  almost  impossible — except  by  treachery. 

Viewed  through  the  magnifying  glass  of  puVjlic 
jumor,  the  affair  at  Churcl'town  appeared  very 
great.  In  the  dearth  of  more  interesting  intelligence, 
it  Avas  such  an  event  as  the  w  onder-workers  of  the 
Press  delighted  to  snatch  up  as  an  especial  theme  for 
record  and  remark.  The  Lor  don  newspapers  es- 
pecially gloated  over  it.  Day  after  day  their  col- 
umns were  filled  with  "  important  particulars  of  the 
massacre  at  Churchtown,  where  the  Irish  rebels,  Id 
overpowering  numbers,  killed  a  reg/uT^r  t .  'f  i^farvt*  ;• 


192  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

and  two  troops  of  cavalry,  burned  the  barracks  to 
the  ground,  and  barbarously  threw  the  soldiers' 
wives  and  children  into  the  flames,  in  which  they 
were  all  consumed  by  the  devouring  element,"  The 
affray  was  repeatedly  mentioned  in  Parliament, 
where  the  changes  rung  upon  it  produced  quite  a 
variorum  edition  of  horrors. 

The  Executive  offered  large  rewards  for  such  in- 
formation as  might  lead  to  the  apprehension  >and 
conviction  of  the  offenders.  Though  the  required 
knowledge  was  scattered  among  hundreds  of  the 
peasantry — hunger-stricken  men,  who  often  wanted 
even  salt  to  their  potatoes  —  not  one  was  found 
to  enrich  himself  by  the  "  blood-money."  Two  de- 
scriptions of  persons  are  held  in  utter  hatred  and  con- 
tempt in  Ireland ; — the  man  who,  for  lucre,  turns  from 
the  ancient  faith  of  his  fathers,  and  he  who  becomes  a 
"  stag  "  (informer)  to  save  his  own  neck,  or  gain  the 
wages  of  treachery.  Of  the  two,  the  informer  is 
considered  more  harshly  than  the  apostate,  who  may 
repent,  and  in  the  fulness  of  time  return  (even  on 
his  death-bed)  to  the  faith  he  has  forsaken ;  but  once 
that  a  man  becomes  a  traitor  to  his  colleagues,  he 
does  what  cannot  be  undone  by  any  contrition,  and 
may  be  punished,  but  cannot  be  atoned  for  by  Death. 
It  is  a  strange  condition  of  society,  lamented  by 
0"Connell,  Shell,  and  others,  that,  in  any  cases, 
wnile  the  Irish  peasantry  would  pity,  and  even 
shield  the  murderer,  (finding  or  making  excuses  for 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  193 

his  crime,)  they  will  not,  they  cannot  pardon  or  ex- 
cuse the  informer. 

Up  to  this  time,  Cussen  had  escaped  suspicion  of 
Any  participation  in  the  Whiteboy  proceedings.  Lat- 
terly, whether  from  distaste  for  the  low  companion- 
ship into  which  he  had  fallen,  or  from  a  desire  to 
elude  suspicion,  he  had  made  a  point  of  frequenting 
society  of  a  better  order.  On  one  of  these  occasions, 
while  he  was  spending  the  evening  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  F.  Drew,  Drewscourt,  near  Charleville,(in  Avhich, 
by  the  way,  the  writer  of  these  Sketches  was  born,) 
the  affair  of  Churchtown  bscame  a  subject  of  con- 
versation. Cussen  took  no  part  in  the  dialogue,  but 
when  all  had  retired,  except  Mr.  Drew — a  very 
shrewd  but  eccentric  man — ^he  spoke  freely  upon  the 
subject,  and  having  drank  rather  more  than  was  good 
for  him,  got  thrown  off  his  guard  so  much  as,  in  the 
excitement  of  the  moment,  tq  give  a  minute  account 
of  everything  which  had  passed  on  the  memorable 
night  in  question.  With  fearful  energy  he  narrated 
all  the  details,  and  at  the  close,  when  he  told  how 
the  mutilated  bodv  o^  the  sergeant  had  been  cast 
into  the  flames, 

"  Even  in  his  glance,  the  gladiator  spoke." 

The  impression  which  his  statement  and  his  man- 
ner made  upon  his  listener  was  (as  Frank  Drew  told 
me  afterwards)  that  Cussen  must  have  been  a  prin- 
9 


194  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

cipal  in  the  frightful  scenes  which  he  so  vividly  de- 
scribed,  or  must  have  had  his  information  direct 
from  an  eye-witness  and  participant.  As  the  com- 
munication had  been,  unguardedlj'  made,  and  was 
protected  by  the  seal  of  that  confidence  which  exists 
between  guest  and  host,  the  suspicion  never  found 
words  until  after  it  was  too  late  to  harm  Cussen. 

The  Churchtown  insurgents  remained  undetected. 
Emboldened  by  success,  Cussen  determined  to  make 
a  bold  attempt  to  obtain  arms.  His  followers  strongly 
urged  him  to  obtain  fire-arms  by  attacks  on  the 
houses  of  country  gentlemen  who  were  known  to 
have  provided  themselves  with  large  means  of  de- 
fence. 

Castletown  Conyers  (about  three  miles  from  Drews- 
court)  was  the  country  mansion  of  a  gentleman  of 
large  property,  not  far  from  the  boundary  of  Lim- 
erick county.  Mr.  Comyers,  an  old  gentleman  whose 
loyalty  and  fears  were  on  a  par,  was  living,  when 
the  predial  disturbances  broke  out,  in  a  remote  part 
of  the  county,  and,  having  mcontinently  taken  fright, 
had  applied  to  the  Government  for  protection,  and 
had  a  corporal  and  six  of  the  Eifle  Brigade  quar- 
tered in  his  house  as  a  defensive  force.  Thus  gar- 
risoned, the  place  might  be  considered  a  stronghold ; 
— for,  in  addition  to  the  military  force,  Mr.  Conyers 
had  procured  two  or  three  cases  of  Bii-mmgham 
fowling-pieces,  a  few  kegs  of  powder,  a  large  bag  of 
flints  (this  was  before  the  general  use  of  percussion 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  195 

«aps),  and  a  liundred  weight  of  sheet  lead,  to  be  cast 
into  bullets. 

This  formidable  supply  of  arms  and  ammunition 
had  reached  Castletowm  under  strong  military  escort 
from  Limerick,  and  report  spoke  of  it  as  even  more 
■considerable  than  it  really  was.  With  these  muni- 
tions of  war,  and  the  soldiers  and  tlie  servants  of  the 
house,  Castletown  was  one  of  the  most  formidable 
places  the  Whiteboys  could  have  thought  of  attack- 
ing. Yet,  with  that  characteristic,  but  calculating 
boldness,  which  gave  him  eminence  with  his  fol- 
lowers, 

"  For  those  who  think  must  rule  o'er  those  who  toil," 

"Cussen  determined  to  invest  this  fortilage.  The 
arms  and  ammunition  were  what  he  wanted,  for  no 
one  could  harbor  enmity  against  the  owner  of  Cas- 
tletown, a  harmless,  neutral  character,  whose  house 
was  open  to  the  poor ;  while  his  wife,  a  matron  of 
the  olden  school  (she  was  half-sister  to  Sir  John 
Pitzgerald,  now  M.  P.  for  Clare),  was  beloved 
throughout  the  district,  for  her  kindness  and  char- 
ity. 

Cussen  well  Anew  that  his  party,  numerous  but 
b>adly  armed,  would  have  but  small  chance  of  suc- 
cess in  an  ordinary  attack  upon  Castletown,  well 
defended  as  it  was.  He  determined  to  win  by 
strategy  what  he  could  scarcely  gain  by  force.     He 


BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

usually  preferred  sucli  exploits  as  could  be  acMeved 
rather  by  mental  ingenuity  than  mere  physical 
effect.  To  figure  as  the  contriver  gratified  him, 
and  encouraged  his  followers'  belief  that,  no  matter 
what  the  difiiculty,  his  sagacity  could  bring  it 
through  with  success. 

About  a  mile  from  Castletown,  and  yet  more  re- 
mote from  other  large  houses — for  it  was  in  a  part 
of  the  country  half-bog,  half-mountain — was  Eoss- 
more,  the  residence  of  Mr.  John  Shelton,  owner  of  a 
considerable  property.  Long  confined  to  his  chair 
by  gout,  which  had  deprived  him  of  the  power  of 
walking,  he  had  not  taken  any  part  in  the  county 
proceedings,  as  a  magistrate.  Nor,  while  other  res- 
ident  landlords  were  soliciting  assistance  to  protect 
their  dwellings,  had  Mr.  Shelton  joined  in  the  en- 
treaty. Isolated  by  habits  and  local  situation,  from 
the  gentry  of  the  district,  he  believed  that  the  White- 
boys  would  not  obtrude  on  the  obscurity  of  one 
who  felt  that,  as  a  good  landlord,  he  did  not  deserve- 
ill  at  the  hands  of  any  one.  Of  his  large  family 
there  were  then  residing  with  him  a  son  aged  about, 
eighteen,  and  two  daughters  some  years  older.  As 
Mr.  Shelton  was  my  own  uncle,  I  can  speak  con- 
fidently as  to  the  details  which  I  give. 

About  ten  o'clock,  on  a  fine  evening  in  ^farch,. 
1822,  the  peaceful  inhabitants  of  Rossmore  House- 
were  disturbed  by  a  "VYhiteboy  visit.  The  doors 
were  speedily  forced  in,  front  and  rear.    The  help* 


CAPIAIX    HOCK.  197 

* 

less  household  offering  no  resistance,  the  intruders 
proceeded  to  make  themselves  quite  "  at  home." 
One  division  sat  down  in  the  servants'  hall,  threw 
wood  and  turf  on  the  fire,  and  commanded  the 
trembling  female  servants  to  cover  the  long  table 
with  provisions.  Others  ranged  through  the  adja- 
cent apartments  in  search  of  arms.  More  loudly 
called  out  for  yoang  Charles  Shelton.  The  plan  of 
■Cussen  was  to  take  this  lad  to  Castletown  a  prisoner, 
and  threaten  to  shoot  him  in  sight  of  the  garrison 
there,  unless  all  the  arms  and  ammunition  were 
given  up.  The  two  families  were  on  such  friendly 
terms,  besides  being  related,  that  Cussen  made  sure 
of  Mr.  Conyers  making  any  sacrifice  rather  than  see 
his  neighbor's  son  killed.  But,  in  very  truth,  (as  I 
afterwards  knew,)  whatever  Mr.  Conyers  might  have 
felt,  the  military  force  at  Castletown  would  rather 
have  permitted  the  murder  than  part  with  the  means 
•of  defence — tlie  catastrophe  at  Churchto  wn  being  in 
their  minds. 

Charles  Shelton,  who  slept  in  an  upper  and  re- 
mote apartment,  did  not  immediately  hear  the  tu- 
mult below.  His  elder  sister,  Alicia,  who  had  high 
spirit  and  much  self-possession,  heard  the  clamour — 
readily  surmised  the  extreme  danger  of  her  brother 
— ^hastily  arose,  throwing  a  shawl  over  her  night 
dress — ran  to  her  brother's  room,  the  door  of  which 
she  locked,  securing  the  key — and  then  went  Jowu 
boldly  to  face  the  danger,  if  necessary. 


198  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

WHile  she  stood  near  the  door  of  the  servants' 
hall,  regarding  what  was  going  on,  but  herself  un 
seen,  Cussen  came  in  from  the  back-yard,  having 
kept  aloof  from  the  confusion  until  then.  He  was- 
just  in  time.  The  frightened  servants,  in  compliance 
with  loud  demands  for  drink,  had  placed  the  whis- 
key -jar  upon  the  table.  Knowing  that  success,  and 
even  safety  depended  on  such  indulgence  being  ab 
stained  from,  he  broke  the  jar  with  the  fowling-piece- 
he  carried. 

His  men  looked  at  each  other,  then  at  him,  but  his- 
stern  looks  awed  them.  One  or  two  merely  mut- 
tered a  regret  that  "  such  prime  stuff"  should  be- 
wasted. 

Cussen- then,  as  if  anxious  to  avoid  all  chance  of 
recognition,  returned  to  the  back  of  the  house.  He 
wore  a  close-fitting  skull-cap,  with  a  slip  of  crape  in 
front,  and  could  see  whatever  occurred.  His  follow^ 
ers  were  more  or  less  disguised,  and  all,  except  Cus- 
sen, had  white  shirts  over  their  garments — hence 
the  name  Whiteboy. 

Perceiving  the  power  of  his  leadership,  Alicia 
Shelton  determined  not  to  waste  words  or  time  in 
entreaties  on  the  men,  but  to  appeal  at  once  to  Cus- 
sen. She  managed  to  leave  the  house  Avithout  be- 
ing noticed — found  Cussen  outside,  leaning  on  hi» 
fowling-piece,  in  a  thoughtful  and  abstracted  mood» 
To  throw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him — to  im- 
plore him  for  the  love  of  Heaven  to  save  her  bro» 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  199 

ther's  life — was  the  impulsive  action  of  a  moment.  He 
turned  awaj,  not  even  looking  upon  h.er,  and  then 
— the  present  peril  giving  her  new  energy  and 
courage — she  seized  him  by  the  coat-skirt  and  ear- 
nestly said,  "  You  want  to  take  my  brother  to  Cas- 
tletown. Thsre  they  will  see  him  torn  to  pieces  be- 
fore they  will  surrender  their  arms.  You  must 
know  that  it  will  be  an  idle  attempt.  Then,  in  their 
disappointment,  your  men  will  kill  him.  Save  him 
■ — save  my  brother,  if  you  have  a  human  heart. 
I  know  that  you  will  do  it,  and  I  will  bless  you 
if  you  do." 

She  sank  on  the  ground  before  him.  He  felt  that 
she  was  speaking  the  truth.  Besides,  he  was  moved 
by  her  entreaty.  Raising  her  from  the  ground,  he 
said,  in  a  kind  and  soothing  manner,  "Lady!  I 
am  afraid  that  we  must  have  your  brother's  com- 
pany, but  no  harm  shall  reach  him  with  my  con- 
sent." 

Her  convulsive  grasp  still  held  him.  Striving  to 
extricate  himself,  he  got  into  the  moonlight,  and 
then,  for  the  first  time,  he  had  a  view  of  her  features. 
She  was  very  handsome ;  and  now,  with  her  dark  hair 
dishevelled,  her  eager  glance,  her  graceful  attitude, 
her  earnest  tone,  her  light  attire,  she  looked  a  Py- 
thoness. 

Cussen  gazed  long  and  anxiously  on  the  still 
kneeling  suppliant.     Some  old  memory  may  have 


200  BITS   OF   BLARNEy. 

passed  *Jiroug  i  his  mind  in  tliat  brief  space — a  wave 
in  life's  vast  ocean.  Perhaps  some  resemblance  of 
form,  feature,  or  voice  brought  back  a  glimpse  of 
bygone  days  of  happiness  and  love.  There  still  was 
something  tender  in  that  troubled  heart.  He  passed 
his  hands  across  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would  clear  them 
from  a  mist,  and  then  with  a  gentle  courtesy,  as  if 
they  were  in  a  ball-room,  raised  Miss  Shelton  from 
the  ground. 

"Lady,"  said  he,  "  whatever  I  can  do  to  aid  you, 
I  will  do.  They  have  not  yet  found  your  brother. 
If  he  be  concealed,  keep  him  so,  and  I  will  make 
some  pretext  to  draw  off  mj^  men.  They  must  have 
whatever  arms  are  in  the  house ;  but  they  shall  be 
content  with  that." 

Miss  Shelton  would  have  expressed  her  warm 
gratitude,  but  Cussen  did  not  wait  to  be  thanked. 
He  turned  away  then.  While  she  yet  lingered,  Avith 
clasped  hands  to  heaven,  he  suddenly  returned,  polite- 
ly raised  his  cap  from  his  head  for  a  moment,  took 
one  of  her  hands  in  his,  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  with 
the  gallant  air  of  a  cavalier,  and  then  withdrew. 
Almost  before  Alicia  Shelton  had  regained  her  own 
apartments,  Cussen  had  given  his  men  the  word  to 
retire.  He  led  them  into  the  belief  that  the  military 
and  police  were  approaching,  and  this  made  them 
hastily  retreat  and  disperse,  taking  with  them  all  the 
arms  in  the  house  except  a  small  pair  of  pistols 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  201 

which  Captain  Shellon  had  picked  up  and  brought 
away  with  him  from  Waterloo.  They  are  now 
m  my  own  possession. 

Before  Miss  Shelton  had  risen  from  her  earnest 
thanksgiving  for  her  brother's  safety,  Captain  Rock 
and  his  force  had  departed.  She  then  ventured  into 
her  father's  room,  from  whence  his  bodily  ailments 
did  not  allow  him  to  move,  and  was  happy  to  learn 
that  he  had  not  heard  the  tumult  which  had  pre- 
vailed in  the  more  distant  part  of  the  house.  Thus 
terminated  a  night  of  terror. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   TRIAL. 

Much  alarm  was  created,  through  the  county  of 
Limerick,  by  the  attack  upon  Mr.  Shelton  of  Ross- 
more.  The  neighbouring  gentry  argued  from  it,  and 
not  without  cause,  that  if  a  gentleman  whose  ad- 
vanced years  and  bodily  ail'ments  had  kept  him 
«loof  from  the  actual  exercise  of  his  magisterial 
functions,  were  thus  singled  out,  there  was  little 
hope  for  escape  for  those  who  had  made  themselves 
marked  men,  by  determined  and  acknowledged 
resistance  to  and  denunciation  of  the  Whiteboys 
9*      . 


202  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Accordingly,  zeal  being  now  quickened  by  fear 
for  personal  safety,  it  was  resolved  that  neither 
trouble  Lor  expense  be  spared  to  discover  the 
persons  implicated  in  this  last  affair.  Many  cir- 
cumstances tended  to  establish  a  conviction  that  the 
leader  of  the  AVhiteboys  must  be  some  one  greatly 
superior  to  those  whom  he  commanded.  The  brief 
conversation  which  had  been  held  with  the  ofccer 
at  Church  town,  and  Miss  Shelton  at  Kossmore, 
almost  proved  that  one  and  the  same  person  had 
commanded  on  both  occasions, — that  he  was  a  man 
of  education  and  gentle  bearing, — and  that  it  was 
necessary,  above  all,  if  the  insurrectionary  conspiracy 
was  to  be  put  down,  to  strike  at  him,  its  life  and 
soul. 

Weeks  passed  by,  and  though  many  were  sus- 
pected, and  several  taken  into  custody  by  the  police,, 
no  clue  to  the  discovery  of  the  veritable  Captain 
Rock  was  yet  discovered.  At  last,  one  of  th& 
persons  apprehended  on  suspicion — faint-hearted  as- 
a  weak  woman,  and  far  less  faithful — let  fall  some 
words  which  first  excited  suspicion  against  John 
Cussen.  No  notice  appeared  to  be  taken  of  them  at 
the  time,  but  the  prisoner,  who  was  kept  in  solitary 
confinement  for  some  time,  was  gradually  worked 
upon  by  promises  of  large  payment  in  the  event  of 
the  conviction  of  the  actual  leader  of  the  Whiteboys. 
He  vacillated  between  cupidity,  and  fear  of  his  own 
personal  safety.      At  last,  he  stagged — ^that  is,  he 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  203- 

gave  some  information,  on  tlie  solemn  promise  that 
his  having  done  so  should  never  transpire,  that  he 
should  not  be  required  to.  give  any  evidence  in 
public,  and  that  he  should  immediately  be  conveyed 
out  of  the  country  for  safety. 

At  first,  the  magistrates  hesitated  to  believe  that 
John  Cussen  could  be  concerned  in  the  outrages 
which  had  spread  alarm  far  and  near,  and  directed 
particular  inquiries  to  be  made  respecting  his  habits, 
way  of  living,  haunts,  occupation,  and  companions^ 
They  ascertained,  from  this  scrutiny  and  espial,  the- 
fact  of  his  frequent  absences  from  home  at  night ;  they 
obtained  proof  of  his  having  been  seen,  within  the 
prohibited  hours,  in  remote  places  where  outrages 
had  been  committed ;  and  the  conviction  came 
upon  their  minds  that  Cussen,  and  none  other, 
was  the  much-dreaded  and  long-concealed  Captaia 
Rock. 

Orders  were  given  to  arrest  him,  and  also  to  search 
his  house.  Among  his  papers  were  found  some  docu- 
ments which  could  scarcely  have  been  in  possession 
of  any  but  a  leader  of  the  disaffected.  They  were 
insufficient  of  themselves,  however,  to  fix  him  as 
such. 

'  The  police  and  the  military,  charged  with  the 
warrant  to  arrest  Cussen,  received  strict  injunctions 
to  avoid  unnecessary  violence.  It  was  anticipated, 
from  his  determined  character  and  great  personal 


■204  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

strength,  that  he  would  resist  any  attempt  to  make 
him  a  prisoner.  Contrary  to  expectation,  he  surren- 
■dered  himself  without  struggle  or  hesitation.  He 
Avas  found  sitting  tete-a-tete  with  old  Frank  Drew, 
at  Drew's  Court, — the  same  to  whom  he  had  spoken 
so  freely  about  the  particulars  of  the  attack  on 
•Churchtown  Barracks, — and  when  he  heard  the 
measured  tread  of  the  military,  as  they  came  up 
the  avenue,  he  paused  in  his  conversation,  and 
exclaimed,  "  They  have  come  for  me." 

In  custody  his  deportment,  equally  devoid  of 
■effrontery  and  fear,  was  apparently  that  of  an 
innocent  man,  and  impressed  very  many  with  the 
idea  that  he  was  unjustly  suspected.  The  magis- 
trates, who  knew  better,  but  were  compelled  to  con- 
-eeal  the  source  of  their  information,  even  incurred 
some  blame,  from  public  opinion,  for  having  appre- 
hended and  detained  him. 

The  difficulty  was — how  to  prove  that  John 
-Cussen  was  identical  with  Captain  Rock.  In  ac- 
cordance with  his  compact  with  the  authorities,  the 
-craven  who  had  given  the  clue  had  been  quietly 
shipped  off  to  England.  The  most  liberal  offers 
were  secretly  made,  on  the  part  of  the  Government, 
to  induce  some  of  the  other  prisoners  to  turn  king's 
evidence,  but  without  avail.  They  knew,  one  and 
-all,  what  share  Cussen's  had  been  in  the  Whiteboy 
«aovements ;  but  they  were  fully  aware,  also,  that  to 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  205- 

appear  iu  evidence  against  him  would,  in  effect,  be 
e<  mivalent  to  the  signing  of  their  own  death-warrant. 
They  continued  faithful  to  hirn — and  from  higher 
motives,  perhaps,  than  that  of  personal  fear.  For 
he  was  a  man  who  possessed  the  power  of  winning 
hearts,  and  there  were  many — very  many  of  his- 
followers,  who  had  become  so  warmly  attached  to- 
him  that  they  would  have  laid  down  their  own  lives 
to  protect  his  from  harm. 

It  was  believed  that  Miss  Shelton,  if  she  was  so- 
minded,  could  have  recognized  his  figure,  his  features, 
and  the  very  tone  of  his  voice.  She  was  strongly 
urged  to  do  so,  in  order  "  to  promote  the  ends  of 
justice;"  but,  grateful  for  the  service  which  he  had 
rendered  to  her  brother,  and  remembering  his  per- 
sonal courtesy  to  herself,  she  invariably  declined 
doing  so,  and,  to  avoid  all  compulsion  or  persuasion 
in  the  matter,  was  secretly  preparing  to  pay  ar- visit 
to  her  elder  sister,  who  had  married  an  English 
gentleman,  and  resided  at  Bath.  On  her  repeated 
refusal  to  assist  the  Crown,  it  was  determined  that, 
by  means  of  a  stratagem,  she  should  be  trepanned 
into  identifying  him. 

Accordingly,  Major  Eeles,  Captain  Johnstone^ 
and  another  officer  of  the  Rifle  Brigade,  made  a 
morning-call  at  Rossmore,  and,  as  if  by  accident, 
asked  Miss  Shelton  and  her  sister  whether  they 
would  not  like  to  see  the  barrack  at  Ballingarry^ 
which  they  had  repeatedly  promised  to  visit.     A 


206  BITS   OF    BLARNEY. 

partj  ol  s.'x  or  seven  was  made  up  on  the  instant. 
The  horses  were  ordered  out,  and  very  soon  the 
party  reached  the  barrack,  in  which  Cussen  was 
detained  until  his  final  removal  to  the  county-prison 
of  Limerick.  That  such  a  person  was  there,  vras 
unknown  to  all  the  visitors.  Accompanied  by  some 
of  the  officers'  wives,  whom  they  knew,  the  ladies 
from  Eossmore  entered  the  j-oom  occupied  by  Cussen, 
heavily  ironed  and  closely  guarded.  As  they  were 
passing  through  it,  Cussen  was  purposely  provoked, 
by  one  of  his  guards,  to  speak  loudly — angrily, 
indeed — to  some  taunting  remark.  Alicia  Shelton, 
recognizing  the  peculiar  and  unforgotten  tone,  seized 
her  sister's  arm,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  and  ex- 
claimed— "It  is  the  very  man!"  and  would  have 
fallen,  but  for  support  immediately  rendered. 

Cussen  started  at  her  exclamation,  looked  at  her, 
"  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  rose  from  his  chair, 
raised  hLs  hat,  and  courteously  saluted  the  party. 
Miss  Shelton,  who  avoided  a  second  glance  at  him. 
restrained  her  feelings,  and  did  not  again  open  her 
lips ;  but  what  she  had  involuntarily  said,  slight  as 
it  was,  sealed  his  fate — and  he  knew  it.  So  did  the 
•officers  who  had  planned  the  trick. 

Government  had  directed  that  Cussen's  trial  should 
immediately  take  place.  This  was  before  Alicia  Shel- 
ton had  been  betrayed  into  a  recognition  of  the  pris- 
oner. She  considered  herself  bound  in  honour  not  to 
give  evidence  to  the  detriment  of  one  who  had  con- 


CAPTAIN    ROCK.  207 

fcrred  a  signal  favour  on  herself.  But,  on  the  night 
of  the  attack,  Cussen  had  also  been  seen  and  heard 
by  her  younger  sister,  whose  bed-room  window  over- 
looked the  back-yard,  and  who  had  witnessed  the 
occurrence  between  them.  Not  considering  herself 
bound  by  any  personal  ties  of  gratitude,  and  some- 
what selfishly  recollecting  her  own  alarm  rather  than 
her  brother's  secured  safety,  Susanna  Shelton  de- 
■clared  that,  for  her  part,  she  had  no  scruples  in  per- 
forming what  she  believed  to  be  an  act  of  justice  to 
society.  In  addition,  two  of  Cussen's  followers,  to 
save  their  own  necks  from  the  halter,  promised, 
almost  at  the  last  moment,  to  turn  king's  evidence — 
but  as  there  was  no  certainty  of  their  remaining  in 
the  same  mind,  when  put  into  the  witness-box  (or, 
rather,  as  it  actually  was,  upon  the  table  in  the 
Court),  not  much  reliance  was  placed  upon  them. 

The  Assizes  being  several  months  distant,  it  was 
resolved  not  to  wait,  and  a  special  Commission  was 
sent  down  for  the  immediate  trial  of  all  persons  in 
custody  under  the  Insurrection  Act.  At  the  same 
time,  a  messenger  from  the  Castle  of  Dublin  arrived 
at  Rossmore  with  a  suhpcena  to  enforce  the  attend- 
ance of  Miss  Shelton  and  her  sister,  as  witnesses  on 
Cussen's  trial,  and  they  were  taken  away  to  Limer- 
ick, in  a  post-chaise,  escorted  by  a  troop  of  dra- 
goons. Apartments  and  all  suitable  accommoda- 
tion had  been  provided  for  them  at  Swinburne's — 


208  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

then  the  principal  hotel  in  "  the  fair  city  of  the  Yi- 
olated  Treaty." 

The  trial  is  not  forgotten  by  those  who  were 
present.  The  court-house  of  Limerick  was  crowded 
to  the  very  roof.  I  am  proud  to  say,  as  an  Irish- 
man, that  among  that  large  audience,  there  was  not 
even  one  female.  Irish  propriety,  by  a  conventional 
arrangement  rather  understood  than  expressed,  verv 
properly  prohibits  the  appearance  of  any  of  the 
fair  sex  in  a  Court  of  Justice,  except  where  neces- 
sarily present  as  a  party,  or  called  upon  as  a  wit- 
ness. I  write  of  what  was  the  rule  some  thirty 
years  ago — matters  may  have  changed  since.  On 
arraignment,  Cussen  pleaded  "  Not  Guilty."  After 
a  long,  fatiguing,  and  nearly  inaudible  speech  from 
Mr.  Sergeant  Goold — who  had  been  eloquent,  but, 
in  his  old  age,  had  become  the  greatest  proser,  for  a 
small  man,  at  the  Irish  Bar — the  evidence  was  gone 
into.  The  case  had  been  skilfully  got  up,  but, 
though  no  moral  doubt  could  exist  as  to  the  pris- 
oner's participation,  if  not  leadership,  in  many 
Whiteboy  offences,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the 
proofs  would  have  sufficed  for  a  conviction  in  ordi- 
nary times.  The  two  informers,  on  whose  evidence 
much  reliance  had  been  placed,  told  their  story  vol- 
ubly enough,  but  when  the  usher's  wand  was 
handed  to  them,  that  they  might  point  at  the  pris- 
oner in  identification,  each  shook  his  head  and 
affected  never  before  to  have  seen  him. 


CAPTALN"   ROCK.  209 

Cusseu's  equanimity  was  undisturbed  throughout 
the  early  part  of  the  trial.  When  Mr.  Sergeant 
Goold,  in  stating  the  case,  alluded  to  the  attack  on 
Churchtown,  the  prisoner  said  that,  in  the  copy  of 
the  indictment  with  which  he  had  been  served,  there 
was  no  charge  against  him  save  for  certain  trans- 
actions alleged  to  have  taken  place  at  Eossmore, 
and  he  desired  to  know  whether  it  was  purposed, 
or  indeed  whether  it  was  legal,  to  state  a  case  or 
give  evidence  out  of  the  record?  There  was  con- 
siderable sensation  at  this  inquiry.  The  Judge  re- 
plied that  Counsel  ought  to  confine  himself  to  the 
charge  in  the  indictment,  and  admitted  that  the  pris- 
oner had  exercised  no  more  than  his  undoubted 
right  in  checking  the  introduction  of  irrelevant  mat- 
ter. The  Crown  Counsel  had  only  to  bow  and  sub- 
mit to  the  opinion  and  reproof  of  the  Judge.  The 
prisoner  appearing  disposed  to  speak  again,  the 
Judge  asked  whether  he  had  any  more  to  say? 
"Only  this,  my  lord,"  said  he,  "that  if  it  be  my 
right^  as  prisoner,  to  check  the  introduction  of  irrel- 
evant topics,  having  a  tendency  to  prejudice  me 
with  the  jury,  it  surely  was  your  duty^  as  Judge,  to 
liave  done  so — ^particularly  as  mine  is  a  case  of  life 
and  death." 

This  was  a  well-merited  reproof,  given  with  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  dignity,  and  (for  the  Judge  was  a  man 
of  enlarged  mind)  did  no  injury  to  Cussen. 

When  Miss  Shelton  appeared  on  the  table,  Cussen 


210  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

appeared  startled,  for  he  had  been  given  to  under  ^ 
stand  that  she  had  positively  refused  to  appear 
against  him — indeed,  it  had  been  reported  that  she 
had  even  gone  to  Eaglund  to  avoid  it.  Compelled 
to  give  her  testimony,  she  detailed,  in  the  plain 
and  forcible  language  of  truth,  under  what  circum- 
stances she  had  seen  Cussen  at  Eossmore — what  peril 
her  brother  had  been  threatened  with — what  suppli- 
cations she  had  made  in  his  behalf — how  promptl) 
the  favour  she  had  solicited  had  been  granted — how 
kind  the  prisoner's  words  and  demeanour  to  herself 
had  been.  She  took  occasion  to  add  that  her  ap- 
pearance as  a  witness  was  against  her  own  desire. 
She  was  then  asked  to  turn  round  and  say  whether 
she  then  saw  the  person  who  had  acted  as  she  had 
described.  Not  without  great  delay  and  hesitation 
— urged,  indeed,  by  an  intimation  of  the  personal 
consequences  of  her  contumacy — did  she  obey,  but, 
at  last,  she  did  identify  the  prisoner,  saying,  "  That 
is  the  man  who  saved  my  brother's  life,  at  my  en- 
treaty, and  stood  between  myself  and  outrage  worse 
than  death."  Cussen  respectfully  acknowledged  her 
evident  feeling  in  his  favour  by  making  her  a  low 
bow  as  she  went  down. 

Her  sister,  who  was  cast  in  a  coarser  mould  of 
mind  and  body,  exhibited  no  scruples,  but  gave  her 
evidence  with  an  undisguised  antipathy  towards  tiie 
accused.  The  missing  links,  supplied  by  her  tedto- 
mony,  made  up  a  strong  chain  of  evidence  "w'tur«*« 
6* 


CAP  JAIN   ROCK..  211 

■every  one  felt,  it  would  be  difficult  for  Cussen  to 
beat  down,  in  any  manner.  It  was  expected,  almost 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that  he  would  trust  to  proving, 
by  an  alihi,  the  impossibility  of  his  having  been  the 
person  who  was  present  on  the  occasion  referred  to 
by  the  witness.  Every  one  who  saw  him  in  the 
dock,  where  his  bearing  was  equally  free  from  bra- 
vado and  fear,  anticipated  some  very  ingenious,  if 
not  successful  defence.  He  very  slightly  cross-ex- 
amined the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution,  and  then 
•only  on  points  which  bore  on  his  personal  conduct. 
He  declined  availing  himself  of  the  open  assistance 
of  counsel — though  he  had  consulted  eminent  legal 
authorities  on  various  technical  points,  while  in 
prison.  But  for  the  place  in  which  he  stood,  fenced 
in  with  iron  spikes,  and  surrounded  by  the  police, 
one  might  have  thought  him  merely  interested,  as  a 
spectator,  in  the  circumstances  evoked  by  the  evi- 
dence, rather  than  one  whose  life  depended  on  the 
issue.  Cool,  deliberate,  and  self-possessed,  he  enter- 
ed on  his  defence. 

It  was  of  the  briefest; — only  a  simple  nega- 
tion of  the  charge  —  a  denial  that,  even  with  all 
probability  of  its  being  true,  there  was  legal  evi- 
dence of  such  a  breach  of  the  law  as  involved  con- 
viction and  punishment — a  regret  that  his  identity 
should  have  been  mistaken  by  the  younger  Miss 
Shelton,  who,  had  he  really  been  the  person  at  Ross- 
•more,  had  never,  even  on  her  own  showing,  been  so 


212  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

close  to  him  as  for  her  to  distinguish  his  features — an 
expression  of  gratitude  to  Alicia  Shelton  for  her  evi- 
dent disinclination  to  injure  one  who  she  believed 
had  treated  her  with  kindness — a  strong  disclaimei 
of  imputing  wilful  error  to  her,  though  he  consid- 
ered her  sister  not  free  from  censure  for  her  undis- 
guised avidity  in  seizing  upon  every  circumstance  ta 
convict  him — a  reckless  assertion  that,  come  what 
might,  he  had  outlived  the  desire  of  existence,  and 
was  prepared  for  any  fortune.  Such  was  the  sub- 
stance of  his  address,  delivered  in  a  manner  equally 
free  from  bravado  and  dread.  He  concluded  by  de- 
claring that,  already  prejudged  by  public  opinion, 
(the  newspapers,  from  the  first,  having  roundly  pro- 
claimed that  he,  and  none  other,  was  or  could  be  the 
true  Captain  Rock),  and  with  the  undue  weight  given, 
to  slight  and  evidently  prejudiced  evidence,  he  felt 
that  his  prospect  of  acquittal  was  small. 

Mr.  Sergeant  Goold  then  arose  to  speak  to  the 
evidence  for  the  Crown,  and  was  interrupted  by 
Cussen,  who  asked  the  Judge  whether,  when  no  evi- 
dence, was  called  for  the  defence,  the  prisoner  Avas 
not  entitled,  by  himself  or  counsel,  to  the  last  word 
to  the  jury  ?  Mr.  Sergeant  Goold  answered  that  the 
Crown,  in  all  cases,  was  entitled  to  the  last  speech, 
and  appealed  to  the  Judge  for  confirmation  of  the- 
assertion.  Cussen  again  addressed  the  Judge,  and 
said  that,  in  civil  suits,  the  practice  was  cert-ainly  not 
to  allow  the  plaintiff  the   last  speech  when  the  de* 


CAPTAIX    liOCK.  215 

fendant  did  not  call  witnesses,  for  he  had  himself 
been  a  juryman,  in  the  other  court,  when  such  a 
circumstance  had  occurred.  The  Jiidge's  decision 
was  that,  if  he  pleased  to  insist  upon  it,  the  counsel 
for  the  Crown  might  desire  and  exercise  the  right  of 
speaking  to  the  evidence,  even  when,  as  in  the  present 
instance,  the  accused  had  called  no  witnesses,  nor 
even  made  a  defence.  But,  his  Lordship  added,  per- 
haps under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Sergeant  Goold 
would  not  exercise  the  right.  Goold  grumbled,  and 
^dgeted,  and  muttered  unintelligible  sentences  about 
his  duty,  and  finally,  gathering  up  his  papers,  quitted 
the  Court  in  a  huff,  with  the  air  of  a  person  mightily 
ofiended. 

The  Judge  then  summed  up  the  evidence,  and 
■charged  the  jury  very  minutely — dwelling,  more 
than  was  anticipated,  on  the  remote  probability  that 
the  younger  Miss  Shelton  might  have  been  mistaken 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  accused.  But,  said  he,  even 
if  she  were  so  situated  that  recognition  of  his  per- 
son were  even  impossible,  there  is  the  evidence  of 
her  sister,  given  with  a  reluctance  which  was  crec  it- 
able  to  her  humanity,  gratitude,  and  wc  manly  feel- 
ing, which  undoubtedly  declared  that  the  prisoner 
in  the  dock,  and  none  but  he,  was  the  leader  in  the 
■attack  upon  her  father's  house  on  the  night  named 
in  the  indictment. 

The  jury  retired,  and  after  a  long  deliberation, 
returned  a  verdict  of  "  Guilty."   Perhaps,  of  all  per- 


214  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

sons  in  the  court,  the  prisoner  was  apparently  the 
least  moved  by  this  announcement.  His  cheek  did 
not  blench,  his  lips  quiver,  nor  his  limbs  tremble 
He  was  called  upon  to  declare  whether  he  had  any- 
thing to  say  why  the  sentence  of  the  law  should  not 
be  passed  ? 

Cussen,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  de* 
clared,  in  a  sonorous  voice,  which  filled  the  Couic^ 
and  in  the  same  collected  manner  which  had  charac- 
terized him  during  the  whole  trial,  that  nothing 
which  he  could  say  was  likely  to  mitigate  the  sharp 
sentence  of  the  law.  "  I  have  had  a  fair  trial,"  said 
he,  "as  from  the  excited  state  of  the  country,  and 
the  fears  and  feelings  of  tlie  jury,  I  could  reasonably 
expect.  It  is  evident,  from  the  time  they  have  spent 
in  deliberating  on  their  verdict,  that  some  of  the 
jury,  at  least,  had  doubts  in  my  favour.  But,"  he 
added,  "  I  make  no  calculation  upon  that,  for  I  am 
aware  that  you,  my  lord,  even  -SNhile  you  comply 
with  the  formula  of  asking  me  whether  I  have  any- 
thing to  say  against  my  sentence,  have  no  alternative 
but  to  pronounce  it.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  faced 
death  on  the  battle-field,  too  often  and  too  boldly,  ta 
dread  it  in  any  sliape.  And  for  the  ignominy,  I 
hold  with  the  French  philosopher,  whose  writings 
your  lordship  is  familiar  with,  that  it  is  the  crime^ 
and  not  the  punishment,  which  makes  the  shame. 
My  lord,  I  stand,  as  it  were,  on  the  threshold  of 
another  world.     My  path  is  already  darkened  by 


CAPTAIN   ROCK.  215 

ike  fast-advancing  shadows  of  the  grave.  Hear  me 
declare,  then,  that  even  if  I  were  the  Captain  Rock 
whom  your  jury  declare  me  to  be,  my  death,  nor  the 
death  of  hundreds  such  as  I  am,  cannot  and  will  not 
put  an  end  to  disaffection  arising  from  laws  oppres- 
sive in  themselves,  and  rendered  even  more  so  by 
being  harshly  and  partially  administered.  The  spirit 
of  the  people  is  all  but  broken  by  long-continued 
and  strong  oppression.  Between  middlemen  and 
proctors  they  have  been  driven  almost  into  despair. 
Exactions,  for  rent  and  tithes,  press  increasingly 
upon  them.  Whatever  little  property  they  may 
have  possessed  has  gradually  melted  away.  Their 
cattle,  under  distraint  for  rent,  crowd  the  pounds. 
Their  miserable  cabins  are  destitute  of  fuel  and  food. 
They  feel  their  wrongs,  and  have  united  with  the 
energy  of  despair  to  avenge  them.  Cease  to  oppress 
these  men,  and  the  King  will  have  no  better  subjects. 
So  much  for  them.  A  concluding  word  for  myself. 
My  lord,  I  have  not  called  evidence,  which  1  might 
have  done,  to  show  that  my  general  character  is  that 
of  a  man  indisposed  towards  bloodshed  and  cruelty. 
It  may  be  too  late  to  hear  them  now — but  for  the 
sake  of  others  I  would  stand  before  the  world  as  one 
who  is  not  the  blood-stained  ruffian  which  the  learned 
counsel  for  the  Crown  has  proclaimed  me  to  be.  I 
would  tell  him,  were  he  here,  that  whatever  else  I 
bave  done,  I  have  never  been  publicly  branded  bjy 
the  Legislature  as  a  liar.     My  lord,  I  have  done." 


218  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

TMs  bold  attack  on  Mr.  Sergeant  Goold,  wlio, 
three  years  before,  bad  been  publicly  reprimanded 
by  the  House  of  Commons  for  having  prevaricated, 
when  giving  evidence  before  the  Limerick  Election 
Committee,  was  received  with  applause. 

The  Judge  intimated  that  he  was  ready  to  hear 
evidence  as  to  Cussen's  character,  on  which  several 
gentlemen  of  higli  standing  in  the  county  came  for- 
ward and  bore  testimony  greatly  in  liis  favour.  The 
sentence  of  death  was  then  pronounced,  with  the 
usual  formalities. 

But  Cussen's  hour  was  not  at  hand.  A  memorial 
to  the  Government,  from  Alicia  Shelton,  strongly 
setting  forth  the  humanity  which  the  convict  had 
manifested  towards  herself,  was  immediately  for- 
warded. With  it  went  a  petition,  signed  by  several 
who  had  been  interested  with  Cussen's  conduct  on 
the  trial,  and  believed  that  to  execute  their  leader 
was  the  least  likely  way  of  conciliating  the  White- 
boys.  In  due  course,  the  Judge  who  had  presided  at 
the  trial  was  called  upon  to  state  his  opinion.  It 
was  said  that,  viewing  the  case  as  it  came  out  in  the 
evidence,  and  without  touching  on  the  suspicion  or 
presumption  that  Cussen  had  been  guilty  of  other 
breaches  of  the  law,  the  report  of  the  Judge  was 
strongly  in  his  favour.  At  aU  events,  the  Govern- 
ment complied  with  the  urgent  solicitations  in  Cus- 
sen's behalf,  and  commuted  the  sentence  of  death 
into  transportation  for  life. 


*  CAPTAIN   ROCK.  217 

As  Cussen  had  heard  his  death-doom  without  any 
^apparent  emotion,  his  reception  of  the  mitigation  of 
punishment  was  wholly  devoid  of  exultation.  He 
requested  that  the  prison  authorities  would  convey 
his  thanks  to  Alicia  Shelton  and  the  others  who  had 
interested  themselves  in  his  favour. 

It  was  said  that  an  intimation  was  made  to  him, 
on  the  part  of  the  Executive,  promising  him  a  full 
pardon  if  he  would  give  them  a  clue  to  the  White- 
boy  organization,  which  they  greatly  desired  to  jout 
down.  It  was  reported,  also,  that,  in  his  reply,  he 
declared  himself  incapable  of  betraying  any  confi- 
dence which  had  been  reposed  in  him, — that  family 
circumstances  must  prevent  his  desiring  to  remain  in 
Ireland,  on  any  terms, — and  he  trusted  there  was  a 
Future  for  every  man  who  desired  to  atone  for  the 
Past.  This  was  the  nearest  approach  he  ever  made 
to  an  admission  that  he  had  been  involved  in  the 
Whiteboy  movements.  The  "  family  circumstances  " 
to  which  he  alluded  consisted  of  his  having  been 
privately  married  to  a  Miss  Fitzgibbon,  with  whom 
he  lived  so  unhappily,  that  even  an  enforced  resi- 
dence in  jS'ew  South  Wales  appeared  a  lesser  evil 
than  to  remain  with  her  in  Ireland.* 

*  The  friend  wlio  has  given  me  this  infoTmation  respecting  Mrs. 
Cussen,  says  that  when  she  lived  in  Limerick,  not  long  ago,  her 
means  appeared  ample.  Her  father,  who  had  been  a  rich  cattle- 
dealer,  grazier  and  farmer,  near ,  had  probably  left  her 

in  easy  circumstances.    He  was  a  l>ir.  Fitzgibbon,  and  very  little 
10 


218  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

This,  however,  did  not  transpire  until  some  time 
after  he  had  quitted  the  country. 

He  was  transmitted  to  the  convict-ship  at  Cove^ 
on  board  of  which  the  narrator  of  this  story,  then  a. 
lad,  had  the  curiosity  to  visit  him.  Of  course,  na 
conversation  arose  as  to  the  question  of  his  guilt  or 
innocence.  When  Cussen  learned  that  his  youthful 
visitor  was  related  to  Miss  Shelton,  he  manifested 
some  interest,  inquired  after  her  health,  begged  she 
would  accept  his  thanks  for  the  favourable  manner  in 
which  she  had  given  her  evidence,  and  said  that  she 
had  strongly  reminded  him  of  a  lady  whom  he  had 
formerly  known,  and  whose  death  had  led  to  the 
circumstances  which  had  brought  him  to  his  present 
position. 

The  impression  which  remains  on  my  mind,  after 

indebted  to  education.  He  sent  his  daughter  to  a  first-raie 
boarding-school,  and  permitted  her,  when  grown  to  womanhood* 
to  invite  her  former  preceptor  and  a  few  more  "  genteels  "  to  an 
evening  party — the  first  ever  given  in  his  house.  The  young^ 
lady  was  somewhat  afiected,  and,  to  show  her  education,  used  big- 
words.  Her  father,  who  heard  her  say  to  the  servant  "  Biddy^ 
v,hen  the  company  depart,  be  sure  and  extinguish  the  candles," 
inquired  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  word  "  extinguish  "  It 
means  'o  fut  oui  a  thing,  said  she.  In  the  course  of  the  evening 
the  pigs  got  upon  the  lawn,  which  was  overlooked  by  the  draw- 
ing-room window,  and  made  a  terrible  noise.  Old  Fitzgibbon,  de- 
termined to  be  genteel  among  his  daughter's  fine  guests,  went  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  loudly  called  out,  "  Biddy,  go  at 
once  and  extinguish  the  pigs  from  the  front  of  the  house!" 


CAPTAIX    ROCK.  219- 

the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  is  very  i.-ucli  in  favour 
both  of  Cussen's  appearance  and  manners.  He  was 
neatly  dressed,  and  looked  very  unlike  what  might 
have  been  anticipated — considering  that  he  was  the 
veritable  Captain  Rock.  His  voice  was  low — "  an 
excellent  thing  "  in  man  as  well  as  in  woman.  There 
was  no  appearance  of  bravado  in  his  manner.  The 
two  turnkeys  from  Limerick  jail,  who  were  in  charge 
of  him,  spoke  very  highly  of  his  gentle  disposition 
and  uniform  civility.  They  declared,  such  was  their 
conviction  of  his  truth,  that  if,  at  any  time,  he  had 
desired  to  leave  them  for  a  week,  with  a  promise  to- 
return  by  a  particular  day  and  hour,  they  were  cer- 
tain he  would  not  break  hLs  parole. 

On  reaching  Spike  Island,  he  was  attired  in  the 
convict  costume, — and  the  humiliating  livery  of 
crime  appeared  a  great  annoyance  to  him  for  a  day 
or  two.  After  that,  he  showed  no  feeling  upon  the 
matter.  The  "authorities"  at  Spike  Island,  who 
were  much  prejudiced  against  him,  at  first,  speedily 
came  to  treat  him  with  as  much  kindness  as  their 
rough  nature  and  scanty  opportunities  permitted  them 
to  show. 

Within  three  weeks  of  his  conviction,  John  Cus- 
sen  was  en  route  for  Botany  Bay.  During  the  voy- 
age, a  dangerous  epidemic  br)ke  out  among  the 
convicts  and  the  crew.  The  surgeon  of  the  ship 
was  one  of  the  first  victims.  The  commander,  who. 
liad  heard  the  report  of  the  trial  at  Limerick,  recol- 


•220  BITS   OF   ELAKNEY. 

lected  tliat  one  of  tlie  witnesses  had  stated  how  gal- 
lantly Cussen  had  fought  at  "Waterloo,  when  an 
-army-surgeon,  and  asked  his  prisoner  whether  he 
thought  himself  capable,  in  the  existing  emergency, 
of  taking  medical  charge  of  the  ship.  Cussen  re- 
plied in  the  affirmative,  but  positively  declined 
doing  anything  so  long  as  he  wore  the  convict-dress. 
His  desire  being  complied  with,  he  w^as  released 
from  his  irons,  intrusted  with  the  care  of  the  sick, 
and  succeeded  in  mitigating  their  sufferings  by  the 
remedies  he  applied.  The  disease  was  checked,  so 
that  the  mortality  was  much  less  than  was  expected, 
and  this  favourable  result  was  mainly  attributable  to 
Cussen's  skill.  On  arriving  in  New  South  Wales, 
this  was  so  favourably  represented  to  the  authorities 
that  a  ticket  of  leave  was  immediately  given  to  him. 
Proceeding  up  the  country,  he  took  a  small  sheep- 
walk,  and  Avas  getting  on  prosperously,  when  a 
party  of  bush-rangers  attacked  and  devastated  his 
little  place.  He  immediately  devoted  himself  to  a 
<;ontest  with  this  jDredatory  band — ^long  the  terror 
of  the  colony — and  did  not  rest  until  he  had  so  com- 
pletely routed  them,  that  the  leaders  were  appre- 
hended and  executed,  while  the  rest,  one  by  one, 
•came  in  and  delivered  themselves  up  to  justice. 

The  result  was  that,  for  this  public  service,  Cussen 
received  a  pardon  (the  only  condition  being  that  he 
must  not  return  to  Ireland),  within  two  years  after 
his  arrival  in  the  Colony.     He  practiced  for  some 


CAPTAIN   EOCK.  221 

time,  as  a  surgeon,  at  Sydney,  and  having  realized 
about  live  thousand  pounds,  proceeded  to  the  United 
States.  One  of  his  first  acts,  after  arriving  in  New- 
York,  was  to  send  to  Ireland  for  the  son  of  John 
Sheehan  (the  man  who  had  been  shot  on  suspicion 
of  Whiteboyism),  now  doubly  orphaned  by  his 
mother's  death.  He  adopted  him,  in  fulfilment  of 
his  promise  at  the  Wake,  as  related  in  the  first 
chapter.  His  own  wife  and  daughter,  whom  he 
had  liberally  supplied  with  funds  from  New  South 
Wales,  declined  rejoining  him  there  or  in  America, 
and  were  actually  residing  in  Limerick  a  few  years 
ago.  Cussen  eventually  settled  in  one  of  the  West- 
ern States,  where  his  capital  at  (nice  enabled  him  to 
purchase  and  cultivate  a  large  tract  of  land.  He 
has  been  heard  of,  more  than  once,  by  those  who 
knew  his  identity,  as  a  thriving  and  influential  citi- 
zen, under  a  slightly  changed  name. 

The  fact  that  Cussen  had  led  the  attack  upon 
Churehtown  Barracks  was  not  positively  ascertained 
for  several  years  after  his  departure  from  Ireland. 
In  a  death-bed  confession,  one  of  the  party  avowed 
it.  To  this  day,  however,  very  many  of  the  people 
in  the  County  of  Limerick,  who  were  well  acquainted 
with  Cussen,  will  not  beheve  that  he  ever  could 
have  participated  in  such  a  cold-blooded  massacre. 
They  appeal,  in  proof  of  the  gentleness  of  his  na- 
ture, to  the  kind  feelings  which  he  exhibited  during 
the  attack  on  Rossmore. 


"222  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

It  is  clear,  at  all  events,  that  by  the  conviction  of 
•Cussen,  the  Whiteboys  lost  a  leader.  The  con- 
federation was  speedily  broken  up,  for  want  of  its 
■Captain  Kock.  Nor,  since  that  time,  have  the 
•disaffected  in  Ireland  been  able  to  obtain  the  assist- 
ance of  any  one  so  competent  for  command  as  was 
John  Cussen.  His  successors,  from  time  to  time, 
have  been  bold,  ignorant  men,  at  the  highest  not 
more  than  one  degree  above  the  peasantry  whom 
they  contrived  to  band  together  as  United  Irish- 
men, Eibbonmen,  or  Whiteboys.  The  peasantry 
•were  taught,  too,  that  the  redress  of  grievances  is 
not  likely  to  be  brought  about  by  illegal  confedera- 
tions— that  agitation  within  the  law,  may  virtually 
place  them  above  the  law, — and  that  he  who  com- 
mits a  crime  gives  an  advantage  to  the  antagonist. 
This  was  the  great  principle  which  O'Connell  always 
endeavoured  to  enforce.  We  have  seen  the  last  of 
the  Whiteboys,  and  I  have  told  the  story  of  the  un- 
doubted Captain  Eock,  the  will-o'-the-wisp  of  Irish 
agrarian  disturbances. 


A  NIGHT   WITH  THE   WHITEBOYS. 

In  connection  witli  the  leadership  of  John  Cussen, 
an  incident  occurred  which  may  be  related  here,  as 
a  sort  of  appendix  to  his  own  adventures.  It  is 
■only  a  trifle  in  its  way,  but  illustrates  the  manner  in 
which,  even  after  he  had  quitted  the  country,  he  was 
regarded  by  his  former  adherents. 

About  twelve  months  after  the  conviction  and 
transportation  of  Captain  Rock,  which  eventually 
led  to  the  breaking  up  of  the  Whiteboy  organization 
— though,  here  and  there,  a  few  branch  Ribbon 
lodges  remained — I  was  on  a  visit  to  my  uncle, 
the  self-same  owner  of  Rossmore,  mentioned  in  the 
previous  story,  and  father  of  its  heroine.  Rossmore 
House  is  situated  within  a  short  distance  of  Castle- 
town Conyers,  and,  by  taking  a  short  cut  across  the 
fields,  this  distance  might  be  reduced  to  a  mile. 
Having  spent  the  day  at  Castletown,  I  was  returning 
to  Rossmore  by  the  short  cut,  late  in  the  evening — 
too  late,  indeed,  as  I  had  been  warned,  from  the 
chance  of  meeting  some  of  the  prowlers  who  haunted 
the  by-roads  towards  the  small  town.  I  had  no 
fear,  however,  and  though  it  was  after  twelve  o'clock, 
there  was  a  beautiful  full  moon,  which,  as  the  old 

(223) 


224  SITS   OF   BLARXEY. 

song  sajs,  "  did  shine  as  bright  as  day."  I  had  got 
on  a  narrow  by-road  which  ran  between  two  bogs^ 
and  was  speeding  home  with  as  little  delay  as  possible^ 
All  at  once,  I  heard  the  dull  heavy  tramp  of  feet,  in 
a  measured  tread,  and  thought  tliat  it  probably  was- 
the  police-patrol  taking  its  rounds.  As  some  of  the 
police  were  quartered  at  my  uncle's,  I  entertained  no- 
apprehension  on  account  of  being  found  out  of  doors 
at  an  untimely  hour,  as  my  person  was  known  to 
these  peace-preservers.  I  walked  on,  therefore,  at 
my  ease,  loitering  a  little  to  allow  myself  to  be  over- 
taken, in  order  that  I  might  have  an  escort  home. 

The  party  came  up,  and  when  I  turned  round  to 
recognize  and  speak  to  them,  I  was  considerably 
alarmed  to  find  that  I  was  in  the  midst  of  a  large 
assemblage  of  rough-and-ready  countrymen,  wrapped 
up  in  large  blue  coateens,  every  man  of  them  with  a 
huge  bludgeon  in  his  hand.  Knowing  that  the  best 
plan  was  to  put  as  bold  a  front  on  it  as  I  could,  I 
accosted  them  with  the  usual  "  Good  evening,  boys." 
They  did  not  condescend  to  return  the  greeting,  but 
gathered  together  in  groups,  conversing  in  Irish, 
which  I  did  not  understand — the  acquisition  of  that 
ancient  and  sonorous  language  having  been  a  neg- 
lected branch  of  my  education.  From  their  vehe- 
ment action,  their  constant  references  to  myself  by 
gesture,  and  the  repetition  of  my  name,  I  perceived 
that  they  knew  who  I  was,  and  were  speaking  about 
me.     Undo""  such  circumstances,  I  thought,  with  FaJ 


A   NIGHT   WITH   THE   WHITEBOYS.  225 

staff,  that  the  better  part  of  valour  was  discretion, 
aud  I  p-epared  to  effect  my  escape  from  such,  un- 
pleasant companionship,  by  slipping  off  as  quietly 
'ts  I  could. 

The  intention,  however  excellent,  was  not  to  be 
Dorne  out  in  execution.  Before  I  had  taken  fifty 
steps,  I  felt  two  or  three  large,  rough,  hairy,  sinewy 
hands  on  the  collar  of  my  coat,  and  the  cold  muzzle 
of  a  pistol  under  my  left  ear,  with  a  threat,  strength- 
ened by  a  tremendous  oath,  that,  if  I  dared  move  one 
inch  farther,  the  contents  of  the  pistol  should  be 
lodged  in  my  brain.  I  did  not  move,  having  a 
strong  idea  that  the  threat  would  be  carried  into 
execution, — not  a  remarkably  pleasant  anticipation 
for  any  one,  far  less  for  a  lad  of  fourteen. 

After  some  delay,  a  man,  who  appeared  to  be  a 
kind  of  leader,  asked  me  my  name,  and  whether  I 
was  not  a  nephew  of  "the  old  fellow  at  Rossmore." 
I  said  that  I  was.  "Then,"  said  he,  "you  are  the 
cousin  of  that  fine  young  lady  whose  swearing  was 
the  means  of  our  Captain  being  sent  across  the  sea  ?'* 
I  answered  that  he  was  quite  correct,  and  that  I  cer- 
tainly was  the  lady's  cousin.  "Then,"  said  he,  "as 
we  cannot  lay  hands  on  her^  for  she  cut  away  to 
England  when  the  trial  was  over,  for  fear  of  our 
just  revenge,  I  think  we  must  have  your  blood  in- 
stead." As  I  had  a  very  strong  objection  to 
suffering,  vicariously,  even  for  a  woman  and  a 
cousin,  I  remonstrated  against  the  design,  alleging, 
10* 


226  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

truly  enough,  that  it  was  hard  I  should  ansAver  for 
any  one's  sins  but  my  own ;  that  the  lady,  as  was 
well  known,  had  given  evidence  against  Captain 
Bock,  under  compulsion ;  and  that,  after  he  was 
sentenced  to  death,  she  never  rested  until  she  had 
obtained  a  remission  of  the  sentence  of  death  passed 
upon  him. 

What  I  said  evidently  made  an  impression  on  my 
audience — on  such,  at  least,  as  knew  English.  Ta 
the  rest  it  was  duly  interpreted;  after  which,  still 
leaving  me  in  charge  of  the  hirsute  giant  with  the 
great  pistol,  the  party  retired  a  little  way  to  hold 
consultation  respecting  me.  This  I  knew,  because 
the  rough  gentleman,  who  held  the  pistol  to  my 
ear,  grew  a  little  communicative,  telling  me  that 
they  had  all  been  to  the  fair  of  Bruree,  where  they 
had  indulged  pretty  freely  in  strong  liquors,  and 
that  he  thought  it  likely,  as  they  had  made  up  their 
mind  to  take  my  life,  that  they  were  then  only  de- 
liberating in  what  manner  to  carry  out  their  intention. 
■"It  is  an  easy  death  enough,"  said  this  Job's  com- 
forter, "  to  be  strangled  by  a  handkerchief,  squeezed 
round  the  throat  to  a  proper  tightness ;  it  is  as  good 
a  way  as  any  other  to  put  a  man  into  a  deep  bog-hole 
like  that  on  the  side  of  the  road  there;  but,"  he 
added,  "  for  doing  the  thing  genteelly,  and  making 
sure  of  quick  work  and  little  pain,  I  certainly  would 
prefer  a  pistol  like  this,  with  a  decent  charge  of  can- 


A   >'IGH1    WITH   THE   WHITEBOYS.  227 

ister  powder,  and  a  brace  of  bullets  or  a  couple  of 
«lugs  at  the  top  to  make  all  right." 

The  conference  by  the  way-side  lasted  so  long, 
that  I  grew  heart-^ck  with  anxiety.  I  could  see, 
by  their  unrestrained  movements,  that  some  of  the 
party  were  disposed  to  wreak  upon  my  person  their 
xcvenge  against  my  cousin,  and  that  some  were  re- 
commending a  milder  process.  Presently,  the  de- 
■cision  appeared  to  be  made — whatever  it  might  be. 
The  same  man  who  had  already  spoken  to  me,  came 
lip  again,  and  with  him  the  rest  of  that  precious  con- 
■clave.  "  My  lad,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder,  "  Do  you  knoAv  what  we  have  made  up 
our  minds  to  do?"  I  answered,  that  I  did  not  know. 
"  Some  of  us,"  said  he,  "  think  that,  as  you  have  met 
us  to  night,  and  may  know  some  of  us  again,  the 
best  thing  we  could  do  would  be  to  put  you  out  of 
the  way  at  once.  And  some  of  us  think,  that  if  we 
took  your  word,  (though  you're  only  a  bit  of  a  boy,) 
not  to  mention  that  you  have  seen  us,  we  might  do 
■worse  than  let  you  go  home,  though  that  home  is 
the  nest  which  she  came  out  of." 

I  fancied,  from  his  manner,  that  I  had  not  much 
cause  to  apprehend  the  more  deadly  alternative ;  and, 
therefore,  I  answered,  as  boldly  as  I  could,  that  I 
was  quite  willing  to  give  my  word  not  to  mention 
that  I  had  seen  any  of  them,  nor,  at  any  time  off 
place,  attempt  to  recognize  them.  "  While  you  are 
deciding,"  I  added,  "recollect  that  this  suspense  be 


228  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

tween  life  and  deatli  is  not  the  most  pleasant  things 
in  the  world.  And,  for  God's  sake,"  said  I,  "rather 
put  this  hairy  gentleman's  brace  of  bullets  through 
my  head  at  once,  than  leave  me  shivering  another 
half  an  hour  in  the  cold."  There  was  a  laugh  at  what 
I  said  5  those  who  did  not  speak  English  eagerly  re- 
quired it  to  be  translated  for  them,  and  then  the 
laugh  grew  louder,  for  all  enjoyed  it.  "  Faith,"  said 
the  leader,  "You're  a  bold  lad  to  jest  in  that  way, 
with  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  against  your  ear.  Make 
your  mind  easy ;  we  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  your 
head  now.  Go  your  way,  and  keep  your  promise. 
No  matter  when  you  meet  any  of  us,  don."t  let  on 
that  you  have  ever  seen  us  before.  And  if  you 
should  ever  fall  in  with  bad  company,  in  a  by-way, 
on  a  night  like  this,  just  whisper  '■Barry  More^  into 
the  ear  of  any  of  the  party,  and  you  may  pass^ 
through  them  as  safely  as  if  you  were  walking  in  a. 
drawing-room."  This  said,  I  had  to  shake  hands, 
one  by  one,  with  each  of  the  party;  and  thej^  further 
insisted,  with  a  pertinacity  which  would  not  brook 
denial,  that  half-a-dozen  of  them  should  escort  me 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  my  uncle's  house. 

A  few  weeks  after  this  rencontre,  I  saw  a  man  at 
work  in  one  of  my  uncle's  fields,  who  seemed  not  quite- 
a  stranger  to  me.  I  took  care  that  the  recognition,, 
if  any,  should  come  from  him.  Accordingly,  though 
I  made  the  usual  remark  that  it  was  a  fine  day,  and 
asked  some  questions  as  to  the  prospects  of  the  crops. 


A  XIGHT   WITH   Tlli:    W'HITEBOYS.  229 

I  did  not  seem  as  if  I  had  over  seen  him  before.  How- 
ever, he  had  less  discretion,  for  he  said,  "  That  was  a 
narrow  escape  jou  had,  down  by  the  bog,  that  night, 
sir."  I  asked  what  he  meant?  "Oh  !"  said  he,  "I 
do  not  mind  talking  to  you  about  it  now,  for  we 
have  your  word  not  to  tell  on  us,  and  I  know  ver) 
well — for  we  have  friends  in  every  house,  who  tell 
us  what  passes — that  not  even  to  your  uncle  did  you 
say  a  word  about  what  happened  that  night.  We 
tried  to  frighten  you  a  bit,  sir,  but  you  stood  up 
better  than  we  expected.  I  had  made  up  my  mind, 
from  the  first,  that  not  a  hair  of  your  head  should 
be  touched ;  but  it  was  not  quite  so  easy  t-o  get  the 
rest  of  the  boys  to  my  way  of  thinking.  They  had 
not  the  cause  that  I  had  for  wishing  you  well." 

I  told  him,  what  was  the  plain  truth,  that  I  had 
no  recollection  of  any  particular  cause  why  Ae,  more 
than  any  of  tlie  rest,  should  have  protected  me.  "Ah, 
sir,"  said  he,  "people  who  do  a  kindness  forget  it,  if 
the  true  vein  be  in  them,  sooner  than  those  they  do 
the  kindness  to.  You  may  remember,  sir,  that 
about  ten  years  ago,  when  you  were  a  child,  the 
Master  here  was  very  angry  with  me  for  having 
neglected  my  work,  by  which  the  Mistress's  garden 
was  quite  spoilt,  and  turned  me  off,  when  I  had  not 
the  chance  of  getting  work  anywhere  else,  and  owed 
a  quarter's  rent  for  the  little  cabin  and  potatoe  gar- 
den, and  was  entirely  broke,  hand  and  foot, — aye, 
and  almost  heart,  too.     At  that  time,  sir,  you  were 


230  BITS   OF   BLARNEr. 

to  the  fore,  "with  the  kind  word,  which  you  ever  had^ 
to  turn  away  the  Master's  anger,  and  you  got  the 
Mistress  to  interfere;  and  when  the  Master  took 
me  on  to  work  again,  it  was  yourself,  sir,  that  ran 
down  to  my  little  cabin  and  told  me  the  good  news,. 
and  sat  down  at  the  table,  with  the  children,  without 
any  pride,  and  eat  the  roasted  potato  and  the  salt,. 
and  drank  the  butter-mUk  out  of  the  same  piggin 
with  them.  From  that  hour,  sir,  if  laying  down  the 
lives  of  me  and  mine  would  prevent  injury  to  one 
hair  of  your  head,  we  would  have  done  it.  And 
that's  the  reason  why  your  life  was  safe  the  other 
night,  and  they  all  granted  it  when  I  told  them  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  story." 

I  saw  little  more  of  my  champion,  for  I  left  that 
part  of  the  country  soon  after,  and  have  not  been 
there  since. 


BUCK  ENGLISH. 

Some  eighty  years  ago,  there  appeared,  in  that 
city  of  Irelafld  which  is  called  "  the  beautiful,"  *  a 
remarkable  character,  generally  known  as  Buck 
English.  This  name — ^to  which  he  answered — ^had 
been  given  him,  it  was  said,  on  account  of  his  fash- 
ionable appearance,  manners  and  pursuits,  and  be- 
cause his  accent  clearly  indicated  that  he  came  from 
England.  At  all  events,  in  the  year  1770,  Buck 
English  was  a  principal  in  the  fashionable  society  of 
Cork — its  observed  of  all  observers,  its  glass  of 
fashion,  if  not  its  very  mould  of  form. 

Buck  English  had  abundance  of  money,  that  great 
test  and  framer  of  respectability,  and  spent  it  freely. 
Ko  man  knew  whence  it  came.  Inquiries  had  been 
cautiously  ventured  upon  by  inquisitive  people,  but 
the  only  result  arrived  at  was  that  rarely,  if  ever, 
did  any  remittance  reach  him  through  a  banker.  He 
frequently  performed  actions  which  might  be  called 
generous;  but  the  real  objects  for  benevolence,  he 
used  to  say,  were  those  who  struggled  to  maintain 
appearances — who  bore  the  arrow  in  their  breast, 

*  '•  '^he  beautiful  city  called  Cork." — Irish  Song. 

(231) 


232  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

and  did  not  complain — who  would  rather  die  thau 
ask  for  help  ;  for,  as  there  is  no  energy  like  that  of 
despair,  there  is  no  pride  like  that  of  poverty.  Grati- 
tude sometimes  would  speak  out;  for  parties  whom 
his  timely,  unsought  aid  had  rescued  from  ruin^ 
meeting  hkn  accidentally  in  public,  could  not  be 
restrained  from  breathing  blessings  on  the  benefactor 
whose  name  they  knew  not ;  and  the  occ:  sional  oc- 
currence of  such  things— r-which  really  were  7iot  got 
up  for  display — seemed  to  authorize  the  conjecture 
that  Buck  English  was  bountiful  in  many  other  in- 
stances which  were  not  known.  This  belief,  gen- 
erally received,  operated  so  much  in  his  favour,  that 
many  who  would  have  probably  disdained  intimacy 
with  one  whose  personal  history  was  unknown,  and 
who,  therefore,  might  be  an  adventurer,  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  receive  him  at  their  houses — a  concession 
which  others,  of  more  unquestioned  station  and 
means,  vainly  endeavoured  to  obtain.  When  stamped 
"  sterling  "  by  the  select,  no  fear  of  his  readily  pass- 
ing into  currency  with  all  the  rest. 

Hence,  the  conclusion  may  be  arrived  at,  that 
Buck  English  was  what  a  facetious  friend  calls  a 
^'populous  character."  He  might  have  turned  the 
sharp  corner  of  five-and-thirty,  and  did  not  look 
older,  even  at  his  worst.  Now,  whatever  five-and- 
thirty  may  be  for  a  lady, — ^forcing  on  her,  I  fear,  the 
brevet-rank  of  "a  certain  age,"  with  Byron's  inter- 
pretation,— it  is  the  very  prime  of  manhood.     Thus» 


BUCK  ENGLISH.  233 

iu.  tliis  respect,  Buck  English  was  as  fortunate  as 
others.  There  was  a  drawback,  it  must  be  confessed 
— for  who  can  be  perfection?  This  was  the  cir- 
cumstance of  his  possessing  features  which,  except 
under  particular  excitement,  might  be  pronounced 
very  ordinary.  One  might  have  excused  the  com- 
pressed lips,  the  sallow  cheek,  and  the  sharp  face; 
but  tha  expression  of  the  eyes  was  not  always  favour- 
iible.  It  appeared  as  if  they  were  almost  always 
anxiously  on  the  watch.  At  times,  when  strongly 
excited,  while  the  cheeks  remained  colourless,  and  no 
word  breathed  from  the  lips,  the  passion  which  cre- 
ated a  heart-quake  in  the  man  did  not  allow  its 
presence  to  be  seen,  except  that  it  made  the  eyes 
flash — conveying  the  impression  that  their  possessor 
must  be  rather  dangerous  under  the  influence  of 
-Strong  and  deep  emotions.  It  was  not  often  that 
such  manifestations  were  allowed  to  become  appa- 
rent, for  Buck  English  had  powerful  self-command. 
Notwithstanding  the  absence  of  what  is  called 
"good  looks,"  he  had  succeeded  in  gaining  the 
favourable  opinion  of  Mary  Penrose,  a  young  lady 
who  had  recently  succeeded  to  a  very  considerable 
property  in  the  vicinity  of  Cork.  Indeed,  it  was 
■somewhat  more  than  merely  her  favourable  opinion. 
I  will  even  admit — on  the  understanding,  of  course, 
that  it  remain  an  inviolable  secret — that  Buck  Eng- 
lish had  made  a  strong  impression  on  the  young 
lady's  mind;  so  much  so,  that,  at  the  especial  period 


234  BITS  OF   BLARXEY. 

at  which  this  narrative  introduces  her,  she  waff- 
deliberating  whether  she  should  frankly  admit  to- 
him,  or  deny  for  a  little  time  longer,  that  he  was 
master  of  the  heart  which  fluttered — ah,  how  anx- 
iously ! — within  the  soft  citadel  of  her  bosom. 

She  had  met  him  that  evening  at  a  rout  (so  they 
called  their  fashionable  parties  in  those  days),  and 
he  had  ventured  to  insinuate,  rather  more  boldly 
than  on  any  previous  occasion,  how  much  his  happi- 
ness depended  upon  her.  On  the  point  of  making 
a  very  gentle  confession,  (have  you  any  idea  how 
admirably  blushes  can  convey  what  language  dare 
not  breathe?)  a  movement  towards  the  retired  part 
of  the  saloon  in  which  they  sat,  apart  from  the  danc- 
ers, startled  the  lady,  while  the  exclamation,  "Mary 
Penrose! — where  can  she  be?"  informed  her  that 
inquiries  were  being  made  for  her.  So,  A\'ithdrawing 
her  hand  from  that  of  her  suitor,  and  making  an  ef- 
fort to  appear  calm  and  unembarrassed,  she  awaited 
the  advent  of  the  lady  who  had  spoken.  Presently 
came  up  her  chaperon,  a  woman  of  high  birth  and  scan- 
ty means,  who  condescended  to  reside  with  her.  This- 
p^rsonage — a  mixture  of  black  velvet  and  bugles, 
pearl-powder  and  pretence — gravely  regarding  Buck 
English,  whom  she  did  not  like  (because  she  thought 
it  probable  that  he  might  succeed  with  Miss  Penrose, 
and  thereby  make  her  own  occupation  "  gone,"  like 
Othello's),  said,  with  a  low  courtesy,  "  I  am  sure,  sir^ 
that,  had  you  known  what  a  pleasure  you  have  been- 


BUCK  ENGLISH.  235- 

depriving  Miss  Penrose  of,  you  would  scarcely  have 
detained  her  here.  Mary,  my  dear,  only  think  who 
has  arrived ! — who  but  your  cousin  Frank  !  He  haa 
been  in  the  rooms  half  an  hour,  and  has  been  anx- 
iously looking  for  you  everywhere." 

Before  a  reply  was  made  the  cousin  made  jiis  ap- 
pearance, and  was  received  rather  formally  by  Mary. 
However,  Frank  Penrose  was  an  Irishman  and  a 
lawyer,  and  therefore  not  very  likely  to  be  put  down; 
or  taken  aback  by  a  cold  reception.  He  was  intro- 
duced to  Buck  English,  but  the  greeting  between  the 
gentlemen  was  by  no  means  cordial.  Buck  English 
saw  a  rival ;  one,  too,  whom  it  was  said  Mary  Pen- 
rose's father  had  been  desirous  to  have  as  a  husband 
for  his  only  child ;  while  cousin  Frank,  to  whom  the 
chaperon  had  previously  communicated  the  intimacy 
between  the  young  lady  and  the  dashing  stranger, 
saw  at  a  glance  that  it  would  have  been  quite  as 
well,  perhaps,  if  he  had  not  left  her  so  much  in  the 
way  of  becoming  heart-stricken. 

"  Shall  I  lead  you  down  to  supper  ?"  he  said. 
"  You  know,  Mary,  that  you  and  I  have  a  hundred 
things  to  talk  about." 

"  I  am  sorry,  Frank,"  she  answered,  "  that  I  can- 
not take  the  arm  which  you  offer  me  gallantly.  I 
had  promised  my  partner,  before  you  came,  to  avail 
myself  of  the  advantage  of  his  escort.  Madame,  I 
have  no  doubt,  will  be  happy  under  your  protection^ 
and  you  can  unburthen  your  mind  to  her." 


236  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Mary  Penrose  retained  the 
^rm  of  Buck  English,  while  Frank  was  handed  over 
io  the  dowager. 

"  Confound  the  fellow !"  said  he,  soiio  voce,  glancing 
■at  his  rival.  "  On  what  a  very  familiar  footing  he 
has  established  himself  with  Mary.  Can  it  be  that 
«he,  who  used  to  be  so  hard  to  please,  is  smitten 
with  such  a  face?" 

"  Yery  likely,"  said  the  chaperot  ,  "It  was  not  the 
-countenance,  but  the  mind  of  Othello,  that  the  bright 
Venetian  was  enamoured  of.  When  the  manners  are 
agreeable  and  the  intellect  quick,  the  accident  of  a 
-iiomely  face  speedily  becomes  of  no  importance.  Per- 
>haps  it  may  even  help  to  throw  a  woman  off  her  guard. " 

"It  is  a  pity,"  continued  Frank,  "that  I  have 
•delayed  my  return  so  long.  I  thought  that  your 
letters  had  exaggerated,  if  not  invented,  the  danger. 
Assist  me  in  deposing  this  gentleman,  and  my  grat- 
itude shall  be  more  than  a  name.  I  have  always 
made  so  certain  that  Mary  was  to  be  my  wife,  that 
this  over-security  had  led  me  to  neglect  her.  At 
all  events,  I  can  tell  you  that  this  Mr.  English  shall 
not  snatch  such  a  prize  from  me  without  a  struggle. 
I  confess  I  do  not  like  him." 

"Naturally  enough.  He  is  a  rival,  and  appar- 
=ently  on  the  way  to  become  a  successful  one." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  supper-table. 
I'rank  Penrose  behaved  with  distant  politeness  to 
^iick  English,  who,  as  usual,  was  the  centre  of  con- 


BUCK   ENGLISH.  23T 

versation.  As  the  hour  advanced,  Mary  «5aid  to  lier 
cousin,  "Can  you  t^ll  me  what  o'clock  it  iS,  Frank? 
I  have  been  so  careless  as  to  let  my  watch  run 
down." 

j^rank,  with  a  smile,  answered,  "Two  months 
ago  I  could  have  done  so ;  but  one  of  the  knights 
of  the  road  met  me  in  a  lonely  part  of  "Kilworth 
Mountain,  when  last  I  was  going  from  Cork  to  Dub- 
lin, and  relieved  me  of  all  care  of  purse  or  watch."^ 

There  was  a  smile  at  the  cool  manner  in  which 
the  young  lawyer  related  his  loss,  and  then  followed 
inquiry  into  the  circumstances. 

"A  very  commonplace  highway  robbery,  I  do 
assure  you,"  said  Frank.  "  All  I  have  to  say  is,  that 
I  was  encountered,  as  I  rode  on  a  lonely  part  of  the 
road,  by  a  gentleman  who,  taking  me  quite  unpre- 
pared, put  a  pistol  to  my  heart,  demanding  my  cash 
and  other  portable  property.  As  I  had  a  foolish 
desire  not  to  part  with  it  quite  so  easUy,  I  threw 
myself  off  my  horse,  and  closed  wath  my  antagonist. 
His  pistol  went  off  in  the  struggle,  without  doing 
me  any  injury,  and  I  drew  my  sword.  My  enemy, 
who  proved  himself  a  better  master  of  that  n- eapon 
than  I  was,  succeeded  in  disarming  me  ;  forced 
me  to  surrender  money,  watch,  and  a  few  rings ; 
mounted  on  my  horse,  and  rode  off,  but  speed- 
ily returned,  with  the  polite  assurance  that  as 
he  never  saw  a  gentleman  in  distress  without  wish- 
ing to  relieve  him,  he  trusted  I  would  accept  a 


^38  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

few  pieces  from  Mm,  as  he  presumed  I  did  aot  in- 
tend remaining  on  the  bleak  mountain  all  night, 
and  he  knew,  from  experience,  how  disagreeable  it 
"was  to  be  in  a  strange  inn  without  money.  He 
lianded  me  five  guineas,  kindly  adding  that,  if  I 
wanted  more,  his  purse — alas!  it  had  been  mine — 
was  entirely  at  my  service," 

"  Would  you  know  the  man  again  ?" 
"  No.  His  face  was  partly  covered  with  crape." 
Supper  ended.  Miss  Penrose  and  the  rest  of  the 
ladies  retired,  escorted  to  their  carriages  by  the  gen- 
tlemen, who  then  returned  (it  was  the  evil  fashion 
of  the  time)  to  drink  their  healths  in  a  brimming 
bumper.  One  glass  led  to  another,  with  the  usual 
result — the  libations  were  not  to  the  Goddess  of 
•Concord.  By  accident,  the  name  of  Mary  Penrose 
was  mentioned,  with  a  congratulatory  allusion  to 
the  good  terms  on  which  Buck  English  evidently 
was  with  her.  Frank  Penrose  started  from  his 
chair,  and  angrily  declared  that  his  cousin's  name 
should  not  be  bandied  about  at  a  public  table,  and 
in  conjunction,  too,  with  that  of  a  person  of  whom 
no  one  knew  anything,  and  who,  he  could  assert, 
was  not  acceptable  to  her  family.  He  was  about 
speaking  further,  when  he  was  pulled  down  by  his 
friends,  who  strenuously  urged  him  to  keep  silent. 

Buck  English  remained  so  quiet  under  the  inten- 
tionally offensive  allusion  to  himself,  that  some  of 
the  company  began  to  think  him  deficient  iiucour- 


BUCK  ENGLISH.  239 

^ge.  The  Irisli  way  of  answering  an  insult,  in  those 
clays,  was  to  throw  a  glass  full  of  wine  in  the  of- 
fender's face,  and  follow  that  up  by  flinging  the  de- 
canter at  his  head.  After  a  pause,  Frank  Penrose, 
whom  nobody  could  restrain,  repeated  the  insult  in 
other  and  harsher  words.  This  broke  up  the  party. 
As  they  were  leaving  the  table,  Buck  English  leant 
across,  and  said,  very  quietly,  "  Mr.  Penrose,  for  the 
lady's  sake,  I  would  not  mix  up  her  name  with  a 
midnight  brawl  in  a  tavern,  but  you  are  aware  that 
your  words  must  be  withdrawn  or  atoned  for?" 

"Take  them  as  you  please,"  said  Penrose.  "I 
stand  by  them." 

"Then,"  answered  the  other,  "I  name  Captain 
Cooper  as  my  friend.  Whom  shall  he  meet  on 
your  part,  and  where  ?" 

Pausing  for  a  minute,  during  which  he  considered 
his  course  of  action,  Penrose  said  that  in  two  days 
he  expected  a  friend  whose  services  he  could  com- 
mand on  such  a  business,  and  hoped  the  delay 
would  not  be  inconvenient.  His  antagonist  inti- 
mated his  assent  by  a  distant  bow,  and  thus,  in  far 
less  time  than  I  have  been  writing  about  it,  was  ap- 
pointed a  meeting  for  life  or  death.  The  outward 
show  of  civility  was  maintained  during  the  short 
time  that  they  remained  in  the  room,  though  feel- 
ings of  deadliest  enmity  rankled  beneath  that  smooth 
surface. 

As    they    were    retiring,    Penrose   and   English 


240  BITS  OF   BLARNEY. 

again  were  togetlier,  and  the  latter  took  advantage 
of  this  contiguitj  to  ask  at  what  time  his  friend 
should  call  upon  Mr.  Penrose's  second  ? 

"At  ten  on  Thursday  morning,  at  Daly's  club- 
house." 

"  Yery  well,  and  for  whom  shall  he  inquire?" 

"Let  him  ask  for  Mr.  D'Arcy  Mahon,  the  bar- 
rister." 

At  that  name,  English  shrunk  or  swerved  as 
from  a  blow. 

"D'Arcy  Mahon!"  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,"  said  Penrose.  "  Have  you  any  objection 
to  the  gentleman  ?" 

"None." 

On  that  they  separated. 


That  evening,  on  returning  home,  Mary  Penrose 
applied  herself,  in  the  solitude  of  her  chamber — the 
young  heart's  confessional — ^to  serious  thought  upon 
that  beleaguered  and  endangered  Sebastopol,  the 
state  of  her  affections.  It  was  evident  that  her  cousin 
was  piqued  at  the  idea  of  her  having  a  preference  for 
English,  and  that  his  arrival  was  likely  to  bring  the 
affair  to  an  issue.  Mary  paused  for  some  time  in 
doubt  as  to  the  course  she  should  pursue.  She  had 
a  regard  for  her  cousin  Frank ;  but  she  confessed 
to  herself,  with  conscious  blush  and  sigh,  that  she 


BUCK   ENGLISH.  241 

had  other  and  more  cherished  feelings  for  English. 
It  is  proverbial  how  a  woman's  deliberations,  in  an 
affair  of  the  heart,  invariably  end ;  and  so,  having 
made  up  her  mind  in  favour  of  Buck  English,  by 
far  the  most  delightful  companion — although  not 
quite  the  handsomest — fate  had  thrown  in  her  way, 
she  retired  to  rest. 

As  she  was  unloosing  the  golden  beauty  of  her 
luxliriant  tresses,  glancing  now  and  then  at  a  flower 
given  to  her  by  Mm,  and  carefully  put  into  a  water- 
vase  on  her  dressing-room  table,  Mary  Penrose  heard 
a  faint  tap  at  the  window.  Withdrawing  the  curtain, 
she  saw,  in  the  pale  moonlight,  the  face  of  him  who, 
even  then,  was  occupying  her  thoughts.  He  held 
up  a  note  in  his  hand,  which  he  placed  upon  the 
window-sill,  and  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
come  before  her. 

Opening  the  casement,  she  took  the  hillet^  and 
eagerly  read  it.  In  the  strongest  and  most  beseech- 
ing words,  it  urged  her  to  speak  with  the  writer  for 
a  few  minutes; — hinted  that  this  would  be  the  last 
time  they  would  ever  meet ; — and  plainly  declared 
that  it  related  to  an  affair  of  life-and-death  emergency. 
The  urgency  of  this  appeal,  as  well  as  her  natural 
desire  to  see  one  in  whom,  now  more  than  ever,^  she 
felt  a  deep  interest,  prevailed,  and  Mary  Penrose, 
throwing  a  large  shawl  over  her  hastily -adjusted 
attire,  quitted  her  chamber,  silently  proceeded  down 
stairs,  and  opened  the  hall-door,  at  which  she  found 
11 


212  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

English  waiting.  Light  of  body  and  active  of  limb, 
lie  had  found  little  difficulty  in  ascending  to  Mary's 
window,  by  means  of  the  thick  ivy  which  luxu- 
riantly .  covered  .the  front . of. . the  house,  and  his 
descent  had  been  yet  more  easily  accomplished. 

When  alone  with  Mary  in  one  of  the  apartments 
in  which  she  had  frequently  received  him  as  a  visitor, 
Buck  English  appeared  overwhelmed  by  emotion. 
Quickly  recovering  himself,  he  addressed  her  in  this 
manner: — "I  have  to  thank  your  kindness,  Miss  Pen- 
rose, for  thus  giving  me  the  opportunity  of  taking 
leave  of  you.  I  am  a  dishonoured  man,  or  shall  be, 
and  most  publicly,  too,  if  to-morrow  sees  me  near 
this  place.  After  you  had  retired  this  evening,  youi 
cousin  Frank  fixed  a  personal  quarrel  upon  me,  which 
I  endeavoured  to  avoid  by  acting  and  speaking  with 
the  greatest  forbearance.  I  named  the  friend  who 
would  act  for  me  in  a  matter  so  unpleasant,  and 
jour  cousin  asked  for  a  slight  delay  until  the  arrival 
■of  the  gentleman  who  would  perform  the  like  offices 
for  him.  The  person  whom  he  named  is  D'Arcy 
Mahon, — one  of  the  few  men  in  this  country,  under 
■existing  circumstances,  who  must  not  see  me,  because 
I  have  the  very  strongest  motives  for  avoiding  him. 
Our  meeting  was  fixed  for  Thursday,  but  I  have 
just  heard  of  Mr.  Mahon's  arrival,  not  an  hour  ago, 
wliich  is  two  days  earlier  than  Frank  expected  him." 

"I  need  not  assure  you,"  said  Mar}-,  "how  very 
much  grieved  I  am  that  there  should  be  any  diffei  • 


BUCK  ENGLISH.  243 

ence  between  two  persons  whom  I  esteem  so  .  luch — 
between  yourself  and  Frank.  But  I  know  that  Mr. 
Mahon  is  a  most  honourable  man,  and  more  likely 
to  paciff^than  irritate  any  parties  who  are  placed  in 
his  hands  with  hostile  feelings  to  each  other." 

*'  There  lives  not  the  man,"  replied  English,  some- 
what haughtily,  "  who  can  say  that  I  have  at  any 
time  shrunk  from  giving  or  seeking  the  satisfaction 
which,  in  our  strangely-constituted  state  of  society, 
.gentlemen  must  sometimes  require  or  grant.  But  it 
is  impossible  that  I  can  meet  D' Arcy  Mahon — whose 
high  character  I  appreciate  and  esteem — on  any 
terms,  or  under  any  circumstances,  without  his  in- 
•stantly  and  fatally  recognizing  me  as  one  whom  he 
lias  met  before,  under  a  darker  and  different  aspect 
of  affairs." 

"  You  astonish  and  alariSti  me !"  said  Mary.  "  Will 
you  not  remove  the  veil  from  this  mystery  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  after  some  deliberation.  "  It  is  a 
sad  confidence,  but  you  are  entitled  to  it.  You  have 
heard  of  a  person  who  is  generally  known  as  Captain 
Spranger  ?" 

Mary  said  that  she  certainly  had  heard  of  the 
terror  of  travellers,  the  head  of  a  band  of  highway- 
men, who  had  infested,  the  South  of  Ireland  for  the 
previous  two  years. 

"  The  same.  That  man,  outlawed  as  he  is,  with 
a  price  upon  his  head,  I  have  reason  to  know  is  the 
younger  son  of  one  of  the  first  commoners  in  Eng- 


244  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

land.  Evil  example  and  jouthful  impatience  of 
control  alienated  him  from  his  friends  early  in  life, 
and  sent  him  abroad  upon  the  world,  in  different 
countries  and  among  many  grades  of  society,  but 
not  always  in  companionship  with  those  by  whom 
he  could  profit,  in  mind,  body,  or  estate.  At  the 
close  of  many  wanderings  he  found  himself  in 
Ireland,  and  accidentally  became  the  companion  or 
guest  of  a  party  of  smugglers,  who  were  banded 
together  in  the  county  of  Waterford,  and  who,  by 
their  audacity  and  success,  had  challenged  the  notice 
of  the  Executive.  Unfortunately,  at  the  very  period 
when  the  Englishman's  love  of  wild  adventure  had 
thrown  him  into  the  society  of  these  smugglers — as- 
it  had  often  led  him  to  spend  a  night  in  a  gipsy 
encampment — at  that  very  time  treachery  had  be-^ 
trayed  the  band,  who  were  surrounded  by  a  strong 
military  force  before  they  knew  they  were  in  danger. 
To  fight  their  way  through  this  armed  array,  was 
what  the  smugglers  determined  on  at  the  moment. 
Unwilling  to  remain  and  be  captured,  the  chance- 
visitor  of  the  night  joined  in  the  sortie,  and  made  a 
dash  for  freedom..  Some  effected  their  escape  with- 
out hurt,  a  few  were  wounded,  some  were  captured. 
The  Englishman  was  among  the  prisoners.  The 
Assizes  were  at  hand,  and  as  it  was  thought  fit  to 
make  an  example,  as  it  is  called,  the  trial  of  the 
smugglers  was  hurried  on.  The  evidence  against 
the  Englishman  was  conclusive.     He  was  found  in. 


BUCK   ENGLISH.  245 

aiined  array  against  the  military,  and  in  company 
with  notorious  law-breakers.  What  could  he  do? 
Pride  made  him  conceal  his  name,  he  was  indicted 
under  that  of  Spranger  (which  he  had  never  borne), 
was  tried  and  convicted.  When  brought  up  to  re- 
ceive sentence  in  the  assize  court  of  Clonmel  (where, 
for  some  reason,  the  trial  took  place),  he  thought  he 
saw  the  opportunity  for  a  bold  effort.  Light,  active 
and  strong,  he  vaulted  out  of  the  dock.  The  crowd 
instantly  opened  to  conceal  him,  for  there  is  a  strong 
sympathy  for  persons  accused  of  such  breaches 
against  the  revenue  law  as  he  was  believed  to  have 
committed.  Even  while  he  was  crouching  down  in 
the  midst  of  the  crowd,  a  great-coat,  such  as  the 
peasantry  wear,  was  thrown  around  him  by  one ; 
another  bestowed  upon  him  a  cap  made  of  fox-skin ; 
^nd  a  third  whispered  him  to  keep  quiet,  as,  if  he 
did  not  betray  himself,  his  disguise  was  sufficient  to 
defy  suspicion  and  detection,* 

•  *  Such  an  escape  as  this  was  actually  made  from  the  dock, 
•during  the  Clonmel  assizes,  by  the  bold  and  notorious  Buck  Eng- 
lish, who  afterwards  found  his  way  into  the  first  society  in  Cork 
■city  and  county.  Indeed,  the  actual  life  of  this  man  was  paral- 
lel in  inany  of  its  leading  points  to  that  of  "  Paul  Clifibrd,"  the 
hero  of  Bulwer's  brilliant  fiction.  The  term  "  Buck "  was 
visually  bestowed  on  any  fashionable  bravo,  in  Ireland,  who 
wore  dashing  attire,  and  indulged  in  all  sorts  of  extravagancea 
■of  expenditure  and  excess.  There  was  "  Buck  Sheehy  "  of 
Dublin,  as  well  as  our  own    "  Buck  English  "  of  Cork.      lu- 


246  ■  BirS   OF   BLARNEY. 

"  Incredible  as  it  may  appear— but  I  perceive  that 
you  have  already  heard  something  of  this  affair — 
Spranger  remained  in  the  court-house  during  the- 
whole  day,  while  a  strict  out-of-doors'  search  was- 
made  for  him,  and  finally  walked  into  the  street, 
unchallenged,  witli  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  when  the 
trials  ended.  He  was  literally  alone,  unfriended,, 
penniless,  in  a  strange  country.  The  men  who  had 
supplied  him,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  with 
the  means  of  bafiling  detection,  kept  their  eyes  upon,, 
and  speedily  came  in  his  way,  giving  him  the  fur- 
deed,  there  were  sufiBcient  of  the  genus  in  Dublin  to  form 
the  majority  of  the  "  Hell-fire  Club,"  who  once  set  fire  ta 
their  club-room,  and  remained  in  it  until  the  flames  actually 
burned  the  hair  from  their  heads  and  the  clothes  from  their 
bodies.  This  was  done  to  decide  the  punishments  of  a  future 
state !  Most  of  the  "  Bucks  "  were  men  of  family,  education^ 
and  wealth.  Several  peers  were  members  of  the  community. 
At  one  time  (the  author  of  "Ireland  sixty  years  ago,"  i-e- 
lates)  there  were  three  noblemen,  brothers,  so  notorious  for 
their  outrages,  that  they  acquired  singular  names,  as  indica- 
tive of  their  characters.  The  first  was  the  terror  of  every  one 
who  met  him  in  public  places — the  second  was  seldom  out  of 
prison — the  third  was  lame,  yet  no  whit  disabled  from  his 
Buckish  achievements.  They  were  universally  known  by  the 
names  of  "  Hell-gate,"  "  Newgate,"  and  "  Cripplegate."  There 
were  two  brothers,  one  of  whom  had  shot  his  friend,  and  the- 
otlier  stabbed  his  coachman.  They  were  distinguished  as  "Kill' 
Kelly  "  and  "  Kill-coachy."  This  reminds  one  if  the  Irish 
traveller,  who  said  he  had  been  to  Kill-nmny  and  was  going  c* 
Kill  mure. 


BUCK   ENGLISH.  lix* 

ther  aid  of  shelter  and  food.  Wliat  need  I  more  say 
tlian  that  those  men,  who  lived  against  the  law,  suc- 
ceeded in  enrolling  their,  guest  among  them.  •  Keels 
lessness  and  utter  want,  in  the  first  instance,  and 
the  fear  of  being  given  up  to  the  Government  in  the 
-other,  were  his  motives.  Coupled  with  this,  too, 
was  a  strong  sense  of  injury  at  having  been  convict- 
ed, without  crime,  upon  appearances.  Not  then, 
but  many  times  afterwards,  did  he  feel  convinced 
that  the  Executive  had  brought  him  to  trial  only 
upon  obvious  and  palpable  facts.  But,  long  before 
he  came  to  take  this  view  of  the  question,  he  had 
become  leader  of  the  band — now  avowedly -associ- 
ated for  plunder,  smuggling  having  been  broken  up, 
and  the  name  and  the  daring  of  Captain  Sprang- 
er  are  suflS.ciently  notorious  throughout  the  country 
now. 

"  When  he  had  completely  identified  himself  with 
them,  so  as  to  obtain  their  unquestioning  obedience, 
Spranger  availed  himself  of  the  privilege  of  some- 
times leaving  them  for  a  short  time — continuing, 
however,  to  regulate  their  movements,  and  parti- 
cipate in  their  gains — one  of  them  always  remaining 
with  him  to  act  as  his  servant, -but  •actually  as  an 
unsuspected  channel  of  communication  with  the 
band.  Thus  this  captain  of  men  beyond  the  pale 
of  the  law,  has  resided,  at  different  times,  in  the 
principal  cities  in  the  South  of  Ireland.  His  last 
resting-place  was  here  in  Cork,  Avhere,  under  a  name 


248  BITS   OF  BLAENEY, 

rather  given  to  him  by  common  consent  than  assumed 
by  him,  and  "with  ample  pecuniary  means  at  his 
command,  he  contrived  to  be  received  into  the  best 
society.  But  he  had  tired,  long  since,  of  the  ruf- 
iianly  association  which  he  headed.  One  hope  re- 
mained— ^that  of  offering  his  sword  to  one  of  the 
foreign  States  with  whom  he  had  formerly  performed 
military  service,  and  thus  resuming  the  condition  to 
which  he  was  born.  But,  while  taking  measures  to 
do  this,  he  met,  and  became  deeply  enamoured  of 
the  loveliest  and  most  engaging  of  her  sex,  and  de- 
layed his  departure — his  exile — from  a  reluctance  to 
quit  the  heaven  of  her  smiles.  Perhaps  he  even 
presumed  to  hope — to  trust — that,  under  better  cir- 
cumstances, he  might  even  have  ventured  to  hope 
that  his  suit  would  not  have  failed." 

Here  he  paused,  to  mark  how  Mary  had  borne 
this  relation.  Her  face  was  covered  with  her  hands 
— but  he  could  hear  that  she  was  sobbing.  He  con- 
tmued : — 

"  You  know,  Mary,  I  perceive,  that  he  who  re- 
lates this  story  is  the  same  Spranger  whose  name 
has  made  many  a  cheek  pale,  many  a  bold  heart 
tremble.  D'Arcy  Mahon  was  one  of  the  counsel 
employed  against  me  at  Clonmel,  and  he  knows  every 
feature  of  mine  so  well  that  he  could  not  fail  to 
recognize  me.  He  would  identify  me,  also,  as  Cap- 
tain Spranger.  If  I  remain,  he  meets  me  to-mor- 
row.    Shame,  disgrace,  perhaps  even  death  would 


BUCK   EXGLISH.  249 

follow.  'Tis  true  that  circumstances  have  made  me 
■what  I  am,  but  there  is  a  Future,  in  action,  for  all 
who  are  willing  to  atone  for  past  misconduct.  I  go 
forth  to  try  and  regain  the  position  I  have  forfeited. 
iNTot  in  this  country,  nor  yet  in  my  own,  can  I  hope 
to  do  this.  But  there  other  lands  where  Reputation 
^nd  Fortune  may  be  won,  and  in  one  of  them  I 
shall  make  the  effort.  To  have  known  you — to  find 
this  wasted  heart  capable,  even  yet,  of  appreciating 
the  beauty  and  purity  of  your  mind,  will  console  me 
in  my  long  and  distant  exile.     Farewell !" 

He  bent  on  his  knee  to  take  and  kiss  that  deli- 
•cate  hand.  Did  it  really  linger  in  his?  He  looked 
upon  that  face  of  beauty.  Did  those  violet  eyes 
smile  upon  him  through  the  dew  which  diamonded 
their  long,  dark  fringes?  He  heard  a  low,  earnest 
whisper.  Did  it  tell  him  to  retrieve  the  past,  nor 
■doubt,  while  doing  so,  of  the  due  reward  a  loving 
heart  will  bestow  ?  Did  it  softly  say  that  he,  and 
none  but  he,  should  hold  that  hand  in  marriage? 
Did  it  entreat  him  to  write  often — always  hopingly  ? 
A  long,  long  kiss  on  those  ripe  lips,  on  that  damask- 
■ed  cheek,  on  that  fair  brow,  and  Buck  English  wa? 
^.way,  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come. 


How  improbable!     How  unfemimne!     How  ut- 
terly at  variance  with  all  the  conventionalities  of  so 
-ciety !     No  doubt.     But  it  is  true. 
11* 


250  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

As  for  Mary's  avowed  love  for  such  a  persoLi  as 
— even  on  liis  own  showing — English  was,  why  seek 
to  put  it  to  the  test  of  every-day  thought  ? 

"  Why  did  she  love  him  !     Curious  fool,  be  still ; 
Is  human  love  the  growth  of  human  will  ?" 


The  morning  after  the  interview  between  Mary 
and  her  lover,  considerable  anxiety  was  caused  in 
the  minds  of  his  acquaintance  by  the  fact  of  his  dis- 
appearance, and  the  report  that  he  had  met  witk 
some  fatal  accident.  His  horse  had  returned  home 
riderless,  and  a  hat  and  glove,  known  to  have  beea 
worn  by  him,  were  found  on  the  banks  of  the  Lee, 
about  two  miles  from  Cork,  a  place  where  he  was 
fond  of  riding  at  all  hours.  It  was  believed  that 
he  had  been  drowned.  The  authorities  took  posses- 
sion of  and  examined  his  effects,  which  were  never 
claimed.  There  was  not  one  line  of  writing  among 
them,  giving  the  slightest  clue  to  his  station  in  life,, 
family,  or  identity.  In  a  short  time,  he  passed  out 
of  the  memory  of  most  of  those  who  had  known 
him. 

It  was  noticed  that  Mary  Penrose  appeared  very 
much  unconcerned  at  the  loss  of  one  for  whom  she- 
was  believed  to  have  felt  some  partiality.  She  was 
abused,  of  course,  by  her  own  sex,  (and  the  more  so, 
as  she  was  ver"^  handsome,)  for  being  "  a  heartless- 


BUCK  ENGLISH.  251 

coquette,"  A  few  months  later,  when  she  had  at- 
tained her  legal  majority,  and  with  it  full  possession, 
of  her  property,  she  unequivocally  astonished  her 
cousin  Frank,  by  declining  his  proffered  hand.  Er& 
the  year  was  ended,  her  estates  were  in  the  mar- 
ket, and  their  purchase-money  invested  in  foreign 
securities.  This  done,  Mary  bade  a  long  farewell  to- 
the  land  of  her  nativity  and  the  friends  of  her  youth. 
Nor  did  any  definite  account  of  her  subsequent  life 
ever  reach  Ireland. 

In  the  fulness  of  time,  there  came  rumours  (which 
were  credited)  that  somebody  very  like  Buck  English 
had  obtained  rank  and  •  reputation  in  the  German 
service,  and  that,  eventually  retiring  to  a  distant 
province  of  the  Empire,  he  had  turned  his  sword  inta 
a  ploughshare,  and  cultivated,  Avith  much  success,  a 
large  estate  which  he  had  purchased  there.  It  was 
adcJed  that  a  lady,  whose  personal  description  tallied 
with  Mary  Penrose's  appearance,  was  the  wife  of  this 
person;  that  they  lived  very  happily  with  their 
numerous  children  around  them ;  that  their  retainers 
and  dependents  almost  adored  them  for  their  constant 
and  considerate  kindness ;  and  that,  though  they 
ever  condemned  crime,  they  united  in  questioning 
whether  he  who  committed  it  might  not  have  been 
led  into  it  by  Circumstance  rather  than  Desire. 


ECCENTRIC     CHARACTERS 


THE  BAED  O'KELLY. 

For  many  years,  an  individual,  calling  himself 
^'The  Bard  O'Kelly,"  wandered  through  the  South 
of  Ireland,  subsisting  on  the  exacted  hospitality  and 
the  enforced  contributions  of  such  as  happened  to 
be  so  weak  as  to  dread  being  put  by  him  into  a 
couplet  of  satirical  doggerel,  and  thus  held  up  to 
public  scorn  as  wanting  in  liberality.  An  Irishman, 
be  it  known,  will  not  submit  to  an  imputation  upon 
his  generosity ;  rather  than  have  thai  questioned,  he 
will  give  away  his  last  sixpence,  though  the  gift  leave 
him  without  food.  O'Kelly  was  shrewd  enough  to 
know  this,  and  like  the  ale  which  Boniface  so  much 
praises  in  Farquhar's  comedy,  he  "  fed  purely  upon 
it" — in  fact,  it  was  meat,  drink,  clothing  and  lodg- 
ing to  him. 

Until  he  published  his  "poems,"  no  one  knew  on 
what  very  slight  grounds  his  Bardship  rested.  His 
book — a  thin,  ill-printed  octavo,  called  "The  Hip- 
pocrene," — ^appeared,  with  a  dedication,  by  permis- 
sion, to  "the  most  noble  and  Avarlike  Marquis  of 
Anglesea,"  and  underneath  the  inscription  is  the 
quatrain, 

(355) 


256  BITS   OF   BLAKNEY. 

"  0  duke  decus !  thou  art  mine, 
What  can  I  more  or  less  say  ? 
Presidium .'  pillar  of  the  Nine, 
Illustrious  chief  Anglesea  ! !" 

In  order,  also,  that  the  world  might  know  what 
manner  of  man  his  bardling  was,  he  had  put  his 
portrait  as  a  frontispiece,  and,  with  that  character- 
istic modesty  which  indicated  that  he  certainly  liad 
kissed  the  Blarney  Stone,  had  engraved  beneath 
it,— 

"  Sweet  bard !  sweet  lake  !  congenial  shall  your  fame 
The  rays  of  genius  and  of  beauty  claim  ; 
Nor  vainly  claim  :  for  who  can  read  and  view. 
And  not  confess  O'Kelly's  pencil  true  ?" 

The  lake  here  alluded  to,  is  that  of  Killarney.  In 
the  year  1791,  O'Kelly  wrote  what  he  called  "a 
Poem"  on  the  romantic  scenery  of  Killarney.  It 
was  written,  but  not  published — recited  by  the  bard, 
as  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  are  said  to  have  been  by 
"the  blind  old  man  of  Scio's  rocky  isle," — handed 
about  in  manuscript  among  friends,  like  much  of  the 
verse  of  the  present  day,  when  (becai.se  every  third 
man  is  an  author)  hard-hearted  booksellers  refuse 
to  purchase  valueless  copyrights,  or  even  to  pub- 
lish them,  save  at  the  sole  expense  and  risk  of  the 
writers. 

So,  in  1791,  was  written,  not  published,  the  Bard's 


THE   BARD   o'KELLY.  257 

*'Killarney," — a  poem  whicli  (as  he  was  Avont  to 
speak  of  it)  "has  all  the  depth  of  the  lake  it  im- 
mortalizes, with  the  clearness,  freshness,  and  spark- 
ling flow  of  its  waters !"  It  may  be  thought  a  little 
egotistical  for  O'Kellj  thus  to  praise  his  own  writ- 
ings— but,  surely,  a  man  is  the  best  judge  of  his  own 
merit,  and  best  acquainted  with  his  own  talents.  I 
j}ut  it  to  every  man  of  sense — that  is,  to  every  per- 
son who  completely  coincides  with  my  opinion, — 
whether,  if  a  man  does  not  think  and  speak  well  of 
himself,  it  can  possibly  be  expected  that  any  one 
else  will?  No;  O'Kelly's  self-praise  was  only  a 
flourish  to  remind  people  what  a  genius  they  had 
among  them — a  Laputan  flap  to  make  the  Irish 
world  quite  aware  of  the  fact  of  his  immeasurable 
merit. 

There  was  a  rumour — ^but  I  hate  scandal — that 
the  Bard  (being  a  poet,  and  lame  to  boot,  like  the 
Grecian)  had  an  ambition  to  be  the  new  Tyrtajus  of 
the  Irish  Rebels,  in  1798.  He  has  been  seen  to 
smile,  leather  assentingly,  at  "  the  soft  impeachment," 
although,  no  doubt,  while  the  insurgents  were  liable 
to  punishment,  he  had  very  copiial  reasons  for  deny- 
ing it.  While  the  Civil  War  was  raging,  he  went  to 
the  north-east  of  Ireland,  and,  his  enemies  say,  with 
rebellious  designs.     But  his  own  assertion, 

("  And  truths  divine  came  mended  from  his  lips,") 


258  BITS   OF   BLARNEY, 

•ivas,  tliat  the  sole  object  of  his  tour  was  to  composo 
I  poem  on  the  sublimities  of  the  Giant's  Causeway. 
Such  a  composition  was  written — for  I  have  read  it. 
But  the  great3st  and  best  of  men — ^from  Socrates 
down  to  O'Kelly — have  been  subjected  to  suspicion 
and  persecution,  and  it  happened  that  when  the 
Bard  showed  himslf  in  the  north,  he  was  taken  up 
jy  the  King's  forces,  and  summarily  committed  to 
prison  on  suspicion  that  his  visit  was  occasioned  by 
a  desire  to  discover  a  snug  landing-place,  on  the 
Antrim  coast,  for  the  French — who,  at  that  time, 
were  about  invading  Ireland. 

Bad  news  travels  very  quickly.  It  soon  was 
noised  about  Kerry,  that  the  Bard  had  been  taken 
up.  As  a  story,  like  a  snow-ball,  increases  as  it 
travels,  it  was  even  added  that  the  Bard  had  been 
— hanged  ! 

On  this,  a  wretch  named  Michael  M'Carthy — a 
Macroom  man  was  this  Bathyllus  to  the  Hibernian 
Maro — constituted  himself  heir-at-law  and  residuary 
legatee  to  the  Bard's  poetical  effects,  and,  not  having 
the  fear  of  Apollo's  vengeance  before  his  eyes,  had 
the  barefaced  audacity  to  publish  eight  hundred 
iind  forty  lines  of  "  Kdlarney,"  mixed  up  with  certain 
versicles  of  his  own,  under  the  imposing  name  of 
^'  Lacus  Delectabilis." 

The  Bard  O'Kelly  heard  of  this  audacious  appro- 
priation at  the  very  hour  when  his  trial  was  coming 


THE   BAKD    o' KELLY.  •  259 

•on,  and  it  took  siicli  effect  upon  his  spirits  tliat,  to 
use  his  own  figurative  language,  he  "did  not  know 
at  the  time,  whether  he  was  standing  on  his  head  oi 
liLS  heels." 

Brought  for  trial  before  a  military  tribunal,  quick 
in  decision  and  sharp  in  execution,  there  was  so 
jnuch  presumptive  evidence  against  him,  that  he  was 
convicted  without  much  delay,  (his  judges  were  in 
a  hurry  to  dine,)  and  sentenced  to  be  hanged  early 
the  next  day. 

The  emergency  of  the  case  restrung  his  shattered 
■energies.  Recovering  the  use  of  his  tongue,  he  made 
a  heart-rending  appeal  to  the  Court  Martial ;  nar- 
rated the  vile  plagiarism  which  had  been  committed 
on  his  beautiful  and  beloved  Killarney ;  recited  a 
hundred  lines  of  that  sonorous  composition,  and  con- 
cluded a  very  energetic  harangue,  by  requesting 
"leave  of  absence,"  for  a  few  weeks,  in  order  that 
lie  might  proceed  to  Kerry,  there  to  punish  M'Car- 
thy,  for  his  dire  offence  against  all  the  recognized 
rules  of  authorship.  He  even  tendered  his  own  bail 
for  his  reappearance  to  be  hanged,  as  soon  as,  by 
performing  an  act  of  signal  justice  towards  the 
plagiarist,  he  had  vindicated  that  fame  which,  he 
said,,  was  of  more  value. to  him  than  life. 

The  manner  and  matter  of  this  extraordinary  ad- 
dress— such  as  never,  before  nor  since,  was  spoken 
In  a  Court  of  Justice — were  so  extraordinary  that 
the  execution  of  the  sentence  was  postponed.    When 


260  •  BITS   OF   BLARXEY. 

the  Civil  War  was  aver,  the  Bard  was  liberated. 
"  It  was  a  great  triumph  for  my  eloquence,"  was  his 
usual  self-complacent  expression,  in  after  life,  when 
speaking  of  this  hair-breadth  escape.  To  this  dav,, 
however,  there  are  some  who  hint  that  the  Court 
considered  him  non  compos  mentis — too  much  of  a 
fool  to  be  a  traitor  and  conspirator — and  were  mer- 
ciful accordingly. 

AYhen  O'Kelly  returned  home,  he  did  not  annihi- 
lat3  M'Carthy  in  the  body — he  did  so  in  spirit:  he- 
lampooned  him.  Finally,  the  plagiarist  made  a 
public  apology ;  and  an  armistice  was  effected  by 
the  aid  of  copious  libations  of  the  "mountain-dew," 
the  favourite  Hippocrene  of  Irishmen. 

•  The  Bard's  trip  to  the  Giant's  Causeway  gave  him 
a  wonderful  inclination  for  travelling.  As  itinerary 
rhyme-spinner,  he  continued  to  keep  body  and  soul 
toojether  ever  since,  in  a  manner  which  nothing  but 
the  brilliant  invention  of  a  verse-making  Milesian 
could  have  dreamed  of  Under  the  face  of  the  sun 
no  people  so  keenly  appreciate,  and  so  undeniably 
dread,  satire  as  the  Irish  do.  Few,  it  may  be  added, 
have  greater  powers  in  that  line — and  this  without 
being  imbued  with  less  good-nature  or  more  malice 
than  other  people.  They  particularly  shrink  from 
any  imputation  on  their  t)pen-haTided  and  open 
hearted  hospitality.  The  Bard  O'Ke.ly  knew  that 
this  sensitive  feeling  was  the  blot  which  he  was  to- 
hit.     And  on  the  results  of  this  knowledge,  he  con« 


THE  bai;d  o'kelly.  261 

trived  to  live  well — to  obtain  raiment,  money,  lodg- 
ing, food,  and  drink,  during  the  vicissitudes  of  about 
forty  years. 

lie  committed  himself  to  a  pilgrimage  from  place 
to  place,  through  Ireland,  always  fixing  his  head- 
quarters at  the  residence  of  some  country  gentleman. 
Here  he  would  abide  for  a  week — a  fortnight — or 
-even  a  month,  if  he  liked  his  quarters,  and  thought 
his  intrusion  would  be  tolerated  so  long.  During 
his  stay,  his  two  horses,  his  son  (for,  being  Irish,  he 
had  got  married  very  soon),  and  himself,  always 
lived  "in  clover."  His  valedictory  acknowledg- 
ment, by  which  he  considered  that  he  repaid  the 
ho.spitality  extended  to  liim,  was  a  laudatory  coup- 
let! If  there  were,  or  if  there  seemed  to  be,  the 
slightest  want  of  cordiality  in  his  reception  or  enter- 
tainment, he  would  immediately  depart,  giving  the 
•delinquent  to  immortal  infamy  in  a  stinging  couplet. 
When  he  had  written  a  few  score  of  these  rhymes 
he  used  to  get  them  printed  (ballad- wise)  on  octavo 
slips  of  whity-brown  paper,  and  each  new  page  was 
added  to  its  predecessor,  by  being  pasted  into  a  sort 
•of  scrap-book.  This  collection  he  called  his  "  Poetic 
Tour,"  and  he  had  only  a  single  copy  of  it;  and  to 
this,  which  he  promised  to  have  printed  in  a  regular 
^ook,  at  some  future  period,  every  one  who  enter- 
tained him  was  expected  to  subscribe  from  a  crown 
to  a  guinea — subscriptions  payable  in  advance.  To  this 
rule  he  had  permitted  only  one  exception.    This  was 


262  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

earh'  in  the  present  century,  when  the  Chevah'er 
Ruspini,  (a  tooth  and  corn  extractor,)  who  travelled 
in  Ireland  as  "  Dentist  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,"  sub- 
scribed, in  the  name  of  his  Royal  master,  for  fifty 
copies  of  the  work ;  and,  on  the  strength  of  this, 
managed  to  dine,  on  three  several  occasions,  with 
O'Kelly^— being  the  only  instance  on  record  of  his 
Bardship  having  ever  played  the  host. 

I  knew  O'Kelly  personally,  when  I  was  a  lad, 
having  met  him,  for  the  first  time,  at  Drewscourt,  in 
the  county  of  Limerick,  whither  he  came,  purposely, 
to  remain  one  day  en  passant,  but  did  us  the  honour 
of  staying  for  a  fortnight.  *He  made  his  first  ap- 
pearance at  dinner-time,  and  his  knife  and  fork  were 
Avielded  as  effectively  as  if  he  had  not  used  them 
during  the  preceding  month.  Until  I  saw  O'Kelly 
feed,  I  had  never  realized  the  description  of  Major 
Dalgetty's  laying  in  "  pro  vend  "  not  only  to  make 
good  the  dinner  he  should  have  eaten  yesterday,  but 
to  provide  for  the  wants  of  to-day  and  to-morrow. 
In  the  course  of  the  cvMiing  he  exhibited  other 
manifestations  of  industry  and  genius.  He  com- 
plained of  labouring  under  a  cold,  which  he  under- 
took to  cure  by  a  peculiar  process.  This  was  no  less 
than  by  imbibing  about  a  dozen  tumblers  of  hot  and 
strong  whiskey-punch,  Avithout  moving  from  his 
seat.  This,  he  assured  us,  was  "  a  famous  remedy 
for  all  distempers ;  good,"  added  he,  "  for  a  cure,, 
and  magnificent  as  a  preventive."     He  condescended 


THE   BAED    o' KELLY.  263 

to  inform  us  that,  well  or  sick,  this  quantity  was  his 
regular  allowance  after  dinner — when  he  could 
get  it. 

He  was  loquacious  in  his  cups.  The  subject  of 
the  Koyal  visit  to  Ireland,  in  1821,  having  been 
broached,  O'Kellj  produced  a  printed  account  of  his 
own  interview  Avith  the  monarch.  This,  he  told  us, 
liad  appeared  in  a  ncAvspaper  called  the  Roscommon 
Gazette,  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  guess  at  whose 
instance  it  had  gained  publicity.  The  account  which 
he  read  for  us  was  rather  an  improved  edition,  he 
said,  as  his  friend,  the  Roscommon  editor,  had  ruth- 
lessly cut  out  some  of  the  adjectives  and  superla- 
tives. What  he  read  was  to  this  effect,  accompanied 
with  his  own  running  commentary  of  explanation 
and  remark : — 


"  '  THE    BAED   O'KELLY   AND   THE   KING.'  " 

"  You  see,  gentlemen,  that  I  put  myself  first. 
Genius  (he  pronounced  it  janius)  before  greatness 
any  day ! 

"  When  his  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King  George  the  Fourth 
— whom  God  and  Saint  Patrick  preserve  I — paid  his  loving  sub- 
jects a  visit  in  August,  1821,  the  most  eminent  men  of  Ireland 
resorted  to  the  metropolis  to  do  him  honour.  Among  them,  waf> 
our  distinguished  and  illustrious  countryman,  the  Bard  O'Kelly. 
Without  /(w  presence,  where  would  have  been  the  crowning 
rose  of  the  wreath  of  Erin's  glory  ?     And  it  is  very  creditable 


264  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

to  His  Majesty's  taste,  that  his  very  first  inquiry,  oa  entering 
the  Yice-regal  lodge,  in  Phoenix  Park,  was  after  that  honour  to 
our  country,  our  renowned  Bard,  to  whose  beautiful  produc- 
tions he  had  subscribed,  for  fifty  copies,  many  years  ago. 

"Yes,  gentlemen,  lie  knew  all  about  me.  As  he 
had  inquired  for  me^  I  thought  I  could  not  do  less, 
in  course  of  common  civility,  than  indulge  Mm 
with  the  pleasure  of  a  visit.     But  you  shall  hear : — 

"  When  the  Bard  reached  Dublin,  and  heard  of  His  Majesty's 
most  kind  and  friendly  inquiries,  he  sent  a  most  polite  autograph 
note,  written  with  his  own  hand,  to  Sir  Benjamin  Bloomfield, 
announcing  his  own  arrival,  wishing  His  Majesty  joy  on  /us,  and 
requesting  Sir  Benjamin  to  appoint  a  day,  mutually  convenient 
to  the  many  rmportant  engagements  of  the  Poet  and  the  Mon- 
arch, when  an  interview  between  these  distinguished  personages 
should  take  place.  With  that  true  politeness  and  chivalrous 
courtesy  which  adorn  and  distinoruish  the  Bard,  he  notified  that, 
the  King  being  a  stranger,  the  Bard  was  willing  to  waive  cere- 
mony, and  wait  upon  him,  to  present  a  copy  of  his  highly  poeti- 
cal poems,  for  fifty  copies  of  which  the  Chevalier  Ruspini  had 
subscribed,  on  behalf  of  His  Majesty,  when  Prince  of  Wales. 

'•  Indeed,  they  were  to  have  been  dedicated  to  him, 
but,  as  yet,  I  have  not  had  but  the  one  copy,  which 
I  have  made  up  from  the  slips  which  have  been 
S3parately  printed,  from  time  to  time.  Kind  gentle- 
men, reading  always  makes  me  drouthy  ; — may -be, 
one  of  ye  will  mix  a  tumbler  for  me? — not  too 
strong  of  the  water ; — christen  the  spirit,  but  don't 
drown  it.     Ah,  that  will  do !    What  a  flavor  it  has ! 


THE  BAKD  o'kp:lly.  265 

"  An  answer  was  immediately  sent  by  three  servants  in  royal 
livery,  requesting,  if  perfectly  agreeable  to  O'Kelly,  that  he 
would  do  His  Majesty  the  favour  of  a  friendly  visit,  the  next  day 
at  four  o'clock. 


"  So  I  sent  word  to  say  that  I'd  be  with  him  punc- 
tual. The  next  day  I  dressed  myself  very  neat, 
put  on  my  other  shirt,  gave  my  coat  a  brushing  (a 
thing  I  don't  often  do,  as  it  takes  the  nap  oif  the 
cloth),  brightened  the  brass  buttons  with  a  bit  of 
chamois  leather,  went  over  the  seams  with  a  little 
vinegar  and  ink,  polished  my  boots,  so  that  you'd 
see  your  likeness  in  them  like  a  looking-glass,  had 
myself  elegantly  shaved,  and  to  the  King  I  went. 
But  you  shall  hear : 

"  To  this  proposition  the  Bard  politely  assented,  and  went 
to  the  Castle  of  Dublin,  at  the  appointed  hour,  the  next  day. 
There  he  sent  his  card  to  the  King,  with  his  compliments  ;  and 
Sir  Benjamin  Bloomfield  immediately  came  down  the  Grand 
Staircase,  and,  with  a  most  gracious  message  from  His  Majesty, 
handed  him  a  fifty-pound  bank-note,  as  the  royal  subscription  to 
his  admirable  poems. 

"  I  won't  deny  that  the  sight  and  touch  of  the 
money  were  mighty  pleasant ;  but  I  said  nothing. 
It  was  a  larger  sum  than  ever  I  had  at  anyone  time 
before,  for  ray  riches  have  always  been  of  the  head, 
rather  than  of  the  pui-se.  I  put  the  bank-not€  into 
any  waistcoat-pocket,  fastened  it  safely  there  with  a 
12 


266  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

pin  I  took  out  of  my  cuff,  and  tlien — mind,  not 
until  then — I  told  Sir  Benjamin But  I'll  read  it  r 

"  O'Kelly  (with  that  noble  disregard  for  lucre  which  alway* 
distinguished  our  eminently  patriotic,  poetic,  high-minded,  much 
accomplished,  and  generous-hearted  countryman)  immediately 
told  Sir  Benjamin,  that  he  would  rather  relinquish  the  money 
than  abandon  the  anticipated  pleasure  of  a  personal  interview 
with  his  Sovereign. 

"  Mind — I  had  the  fifty  pounds  snug  in  my  pocket 
all  the  while.  You  may  be  certain  that  I  wouldn't 
have  .'^poken  that  Avay  before  fingering  the  cash. 

"  On  this  most  disinterested  and  loyal  determination  having 
been  mentioned  to  His  Majesty,  he  was  so  delighted  with  it,  that 
he  desired  the  Bard  to  be  ushered  instantly  into  the  Grand  Hall 
of  Audience.  This  was  done,  and  there  the  Most  Noble  the 
Marquis  of  Congynham  had  the  honour  of  introducing  His  Majes- 
ty to  the  Poet. 

"  Wasn't  it  a  grand  sight !  There  was  the  King 
on  his  throne,  and  all  the  great  officers  of  State 
standing  around  him.  In  one  hand  the  King  held 
a  sceptre  of  pure  gold,  and  the  other  was  stretched 
out  to  receive  my  book.  On  his  head  h6  wore  a 
crown  of  gold,  studded  all  over  with  jewels,  and 
Aveighing  half  a  hundred  weight,  at  the  very  least. 
On  his  breast,  in  the  place  where  a  diamond  star  is 
usually  represented  in  the  portraits.  His  Majesty 
wore  a  bunch  of  shamrock,  the  size  of  a  cauliflower 
Now  vou'll  hear  what  occurred : — 


THE   BARD   O'KELLY.  267 

"  Compliments  being  exchanged,  the  King  descended  from 
his  throne,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  introducing  the  Marchioness 
of  Conyngham,  and  all  the  other  Ladies  of  the  Bedchamber,  to 
the  Bard.  His  Majesty,  then — returning  to  his  throne,  and  in- 
sisting that  the  Bard  should  occupy  an  arm-chair  by  his  right 

side — said,  "  Mr.  O'Kelly  " "  O'Kelly,  without  the  Miste  ; 

if  you  please,"  said  the  Bard,"  Your  Majesty  would  not  say  Mr- 
Shakspeare  or  Mr.  Milton.'  "  True  enough,"  said  the  King,  "  I 
sit  corrected :  I  beg  your  pardon,  O'Kelly.  I  should  have 
known  better.  Well,  then,  O'Kelly,  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  be 
delighted  with  your  beautiful  poems,  when  I've  time  to  read 
them."  I'o  this  the  Bard  replied,  "  Your  Majesty  never  spoke  a 
truer  word.  I  believe  they'd  delight  and  instruct  any  one.  At 
this  intelligent,  and  most  correct  observation,  his  Majesty  was 
please<l  to  -smile.  He  then  added,  "  I'm  sorry  to  see,  by  your 
iron  leg,  that  you  are  lame."  O'Kelly,  with  that  ready  wit  for 
which  he  is  as  remarkable  as  he  is  for  his  modesty,  instantly  re- 
plied, "  If  I  halt  in  my  leg,  I  don't  in  my  verses,  for 

^  "  If  God  one  member  has  oppressed. 

He's  made  more  perfect  all  the  rest" 

It  is  impossible  for  words  to  describe  the  thunders  of  applause 
by  which  this  beautiful  extempore  impromptu  was  followed. 

'  I  knew,  well  enough,  that  something  smart  woTild 
be  expected  from  a  man  like  me ;  so  I  went  pre- 
pared with  several  impromptus,  to  be  introduced 
when  the  occasion  would  allow, 

"  His  Majesty  then  said,  "  It  is  really  remarkable  that  you, 
and  my  friend  Walter  Scott,  should  both  be  lame."  The  Bard 
replied,  "  And  Lord  Byron  also."  His  Majesty  then  obsrerved, 
"  It  is  a  wonderful  coincidence — the  three  great  poets  of  the 
three  kingdoms."     At  the  request  of  the  Marquis  of  Conyng- 


■268  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

ham,  the  Bard  then  made  the  following  extemporaneous  epigram 
on  the  spot,  off  hand,  on  this  interesting  subject : 
'  Three  poets  for  three  sister  kingdoms  bom, 

■*'  That's  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland  :— 

One  for  the  rose,  another  for  the  thorn, 

"  YoLi  know  tha'.  the  rose  and  thistle  are  the  nation- 
id  emblems  of  England  and  Scotland : 

'  One  for  the  shamrock, 

"  That's  poor  old  Ireland, — 

'  which  shall  ne'er  decay. 
While  rose  and  thorn  must  yearly  die  away.' 

"  His  Majesty  was  quite  electrified  at  the  ready  wit  displayed 
in  this  beautiful  impromptu,  and  took  leave  of  the  Bard  in  the 
most  affectionate  and  gracious  manner.  It  is  whispered  among 
the  fashionable  circles,  that  O'Kelly  has  declined  the  offer  of  a 
Baronatcy,  made  to  him  by  command  of  the  Sovereign.' 

"Indeed,"  said  the  Bard,  in  conclusion,  "the 
King  and  me  were  mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 
I'd  have  had  myself  made  a  Baronet,  like  Scott,  but 
I  Imve  not  the  dirty  acres  to  keep  up  the  dignity. 
'Tis  my  private  notion,  if  the  King  had  seen  me, 
first,  I'd  have  had  ten  times  the  money  he  sent  me. 
Well,  he's  every  inch  a  King,  and  here's  his  health." 


l''ou  may  judge,  from  what  he  printed  and  what 
he  spoke,  whether  the  modesty  of  the  Bard  was  not 
■equal  to  his  genius.     It  is  a  fact,  I  understand,  that 


THE  BAED   O'kELLY.  260- 

he  actually  made  liis  way  to  an  audience  with 
George  the  Fourth ;  he  niufet  have  rather  astonished 
his  Majesty.  In  his  later  years  the  Bard  fluctuated 
between  (Jork  and  Limerick  (in  the  last-named  city 
of  "beautiful  lasses,"  he  had  a  daughter  very  well 
married),*  and,  wherever  he  might  be,  was  open  to 
algebraic  donations  of  strong  drink — that  is,  "any 
given  quantity." 

Such  a  fungus  as  the  Bard  O'Kelly  could  only 
have  been  produced  in  and  tolerated  by  a  very  pe- 
culiar state  of  society.  Out  of  Ireland  he  would 
have  starved — unless  he  followed  a  different  voca- 
tion. He  was  partly  laughed  at,  partly  feared. 
Satire  was  his  weapon.  His  manners,  attire,  and 
conversation,  would  scarcely  be  endured  now  in  the 
servants'  hall ;  yet,  even  as  lately  as  twenty  years 
ago,  he  forced  his  way  into  the  company  of  respec- 
table people — aye,  and  got  not  only  hospitality  from 
them,  but  douceurs  of  wearing  apparel  and  money. 
One  comfort  is,  such  a  person  would  have  little 
chanc3  in  Ireland  now. 

The  Bard  O'Kelly  died  about  fifteen  years  ago? 
having  lived  in  clover  for  more  than  forty  years,  by 


*  The  saying  in  Ireland,  when  the  locality  of  good-looking 
people  is  to  be  indicated,  is — "  Cork  lads  and  Limerick  lasses." 
In  Lancashire,  there  is  something  like  this  in  the  familiar  man- 
ner in  which  the  natives  speak  of  "  Wigan  cimpi,  Bolton /e//ows, 
Manchester  men,  and  Liverpool  gentlemen." 


"270  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

appealing  to  the  vanity  or  the  fears  of  tnose  whom 
he  made  his  tributaries.  Until  he  published,  in 
1831,  the  world  took  it  for  granted,  that  even  as  he 
said,  he  had  some,  poetic  talent.  The  list  of  sub- 
scribers to  his  volume  liad  between  seven  and  eight 
hundred  names,  inclading  ladies,  peers  of  the  realm) 
and  members  of  Parliament.  The  "Bard's"  want 
of  ability  was  companioned  by  want  of  principle — 
for  two,  at  least,  of  the  poems  which  he  published 
as  his  own,  were  written  by  others.  One,  com- 
mencing, "My  life  is  like  the  summer  rose,"  is  the 
■composition  of  E.  11.  Wilde,  a  distinguished 
American  man  of  letters;  and  another,  beginning 
■"  On  beds  of  snow  the  moonbeams  slept,"  has  been 
■conveijed  from  the  early  poems  of  a  writer  named — 
Thomas  Moore.  There  is  cool  intrepidity  in  pilfer- 
ing from  a  poet  so  universally  known  as  Moore. 
When  Scott  visited  Ireland,  he  was  waited  on  by 
•O'Kelly  with  the  same  "  extempore  impromptu  "  he 
had  inflicted  on  George  IV.,  years  before,  and  (Lock- 
hart  relates)  compelled  the  Ariosto  of  the  North  to 
pay  the  usual  tribute — by  sutiscribing  to  his  poems. 
There  are  scores  of  Irishmen  now  in  New  York^ 
who  were  psrsonally  acquainted  with.  O'Kelly,  and 
can  testify  to  the  accuracy — I  might  even  say  the 
•moderation,  of  my  description  of  him. 


FATHER  PROUT. 

Those  who  Kave  perused  that  polyglot  of  wis- 
dom and  wit,  learning  and  fun,  wild  eccentricity  and 
plain  sense,  'yclept  "  The  Prout  Papers,"  which 
■originally  appeared  in  Fraser^s  Magazine^  during  the 
editorship  of  Dr.  Maginn,  may  feel  some  curiosity 
respecting  the  individual  whose  name  has  thus  been 
preserved  (not  unlike  the  fly  in  amber)  through  all 
literary  time.  They  would  naturally  think,  after 
admiring  the  rare  facility  of  versification,  the  play- 
fulness, the  fancy,  the  wit,  the  impetuous  frolic,  the 
deep  erudition  which  distinguishes  the  said  "  Papers," 
that  Father  Prout  must  have  been  a  wonderful  man, 
gifted  in  an  extraordinary  manner. 

What  is  there  in  the  language  more  spirited  than 
the  Prout  translations  from  B^ranger  ?  As  was  said 
of  Goethe's  Faust,  translated  by  Anster,  the  fact  was 
iransfiised  into  our  vernacular.  What  wondrous 
flexibility  is  given  to  the  old  Latin  tongue,  by  the 
versions  of  Moore  into  that  language!  What 
charming  mastery  of  learning,  as  exhibited  in  the 
translations  of  "The  Groves  of  Blarney"  into  a 
variety  of  tongues !  What  grave  humour  in  treating 
that  original  song  as  if  it  were  only  a  translation! 

(2T1) 


272  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Two  wits--wlio  not  only  belonged  to  Cork,  but  had 
seen  a  great  many  drawings  of  it  in  their  time — 
were  the  perpetrators  of  this  literary  mystification. 
Frank  Mahony  and  Frank  Murphy — a  priest  and  a 
lawyer.  On  their  own  hook,  to  use  a  common 
phrase,  they  have  done  nothing  worth  particular 
mention ;  but  some  plants,  we  know,  produce  flowi^rs, 
As-hile  others  yield  fruit. 

For  a  long  time,  in  England,  the  full  credit  of  the 
Fraserian  articles  was  given  to  Father  Prout,  Then 
.set  in  a  spring- tide  of  disbelief,  and  the  very  existence 
of  such  a  man  was  doubted.  Erroneous  doubt !  for 
I  have  seen  him — spoken  to  kim — dined  with  him. 
The  Father  Prout,  however,  of  real  life  was  very 
different  from  him  of  the  Prout  Papers.  He  was 
parish-priest  of  Watergrass-hill,  midway  between  the 
city  of  Cork  and  the  town  of  Fermoy — a  locality 
known  as  the  highest  arable  land  in  Ireland.  Prout 
was  one  of  the  old  priests  who,  when  it  was  penal 
for  a  Catholic  clergyman  to  exist  in  Ireland,  picked 
up  the  elements  of  his  education  how  he  could,  com- 
pleted it  at  a  foreign  university,  and  came  back  to 
Ireland,  a  priest,  to  administer  the  consolations  of 
religion  to  the  peasantry  of  his  native  land.  Some- 
times, the  Catholic  priest  evidenced  to  the  last,  in 
conduct  and  manners,  that  his  youth  had  been 
passed  in  countries  in  which  social  civilization  had 
extended  farther  than  in  Ireland.  Sometimes,  the 
learning  and  the  polish  which  had  been  acquired 


FAl'HER   PROUT.  273 

abroad  were  forgotten  at  liome — as  the  sword  loses 
its  brightness  from  disuse — and,  living  much  among 
the  peasantry,  the  priest  lost  a  part  of  the  finer  eour- 
lesy  of  the  gentleman,  and  assumed  the  roughness  of 
the  bulk  of  his  parishioners.  ^Vherever  there  was  a 
resident  Protestant  landowner,  the  Priest  of  the  olden 
time  instinctively  formed  friendly  relations  with  him 
— for,  at  that  time,  the  priestly  order  was  not  inva- 
riably supplied  from  the  peasantry,  and  tolerance 
was  more  declared  and  practiced  by  members  of  all 
jiersuasions,  in  Ireland,  at  that  time  than  it  is  now. 
Prout  was  literally  a  "  round,  fat,  oily  man  of  God." 
He  had  a  hand  small  as  a  woman's,  and  was  very 
proud  of  it.  He  had  an  unconquerable  spirit  of  good- 
humour,  and  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  any  one  to 
be  in  his  company  for  ten  minutes  without  feeling 
and  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  his  buoyant  and 
genial  good-nature.  Of  learning  he  had  very  little. 
I  do  not  know  what  his  share  might  have  been  half 
a  century  before,  when  he  was  fresh  from  Douay  or 
the  Sorbonne,  but  few  traces  were  left  in  Ms  latter 
years.  In  the  society  of  his  equals  or  his  superiors, 
Prout  could  keep  up  the  shuttlecock  of  conversation 
as  well  as  any  one,  and  in  the  fasliion  of  the  place 
and  class,  but  he  was  equally  at  home  amid  the  fes  • 
tivities  of  a  country  wedding,  or  the  geniahties  of 
the  hospitable  entertainment  which  followed  the 
holding  of  a  country  Station  at  a  rich  farmer's 
domicile. 

12* 


274  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

What  the  world  has  received  as  "  The  Reliques 
of  Father  Prout,"  owes  nothing  to  the  little  ^>o- 
drone.  He  had  a  strong  sense  of  the  humourous,  and, 
when  the  fancy  seized  him,  was  not  verj^  particular 
how  or  where  he  indulged  it. 

Prout,  residing  only  nine  miles  from  Cork,  fre- 
quently visited  that  city,  where  he  had  a  great  many 
acquaintances,  at  all  times  glad  to  see  him.  In  one 
Protestant  family  with  which  he  was  intimate,  there 
were  several  very  handsome  daughters,  full  of  life 
and  high  spirits,  who  especially  delighted  in  drawing 
out  the  rotund  priest.  He  had  repeatedly  urged 
them  to  "  drop  in  "  upon  him,  some  day ;  and  when 
the  spirit  of  fun  was  strong,  early  on  a  Sunday 
morning  in  June,  they  ordered  out -the  carriage,  and 
directed  their  Jehu  to  drive  them  to  Watergrass- 
hill. 

Now,  though  that  terminus  was  only  nine  (Irish*) 
miles  distant,  the  greater  part  of  the  way — certainly 
all  from  Glanraire — was  terribly  up-hill.  The  result 
was  that,  instead  of  reaching  Father  Prout's  about 
ten  o'clock,  as  they  had  anticipated,  they  did  not 
■draw  up  at  his  door  until  an  hour  and  a  half  later, 
-md  were  there  informed  that  "  his  Reverence  had 

*  Irish  miles  are  longer  than  English,  in  the  proportion  of  11 
to  14.  A  traveller  complained  to  the  chaise-driver  of  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  way.  "  Oh,  then,"  said  the  man,  "  why  need  you 
be  angry  with  the  roads  ?  Sure,  we  make  up  in  the  length  for 
the  scanty  measure  we  get  in  the  width." 


FATHER   PROUT.  275 

just  gone  off  to  last  mass."  They  determined  to 
follow  him,  partly  from  curiosity  to  see  in  what  man- 
ner divine  worship  was  performed  in  a  Catholic 
chapel. 

The  chapel  in  which  Father  Prout  oificiated  was 
hy  no  means  a  building  of  pretension.  At  that 
time  the  roof  was  out  of  repair,  and,  in  wet  weather, 
noted  as  a  gigantic  shower-bath.  The  floor,  then, 
consisted  of  beaten  earth,  which  was  somewhat  of  a 
puddle  whenever  the  rains  descended  and  the  winds 
blew.  The  Cork  ladies  soon  found  the  chapel,  en- 
tered it,  and  (accustomed  to  the  rich  churches  of 
their  own  persuasion)  gazed  in  wonder  on  the  hum- 
ble, unadorned  place  of  worship  in  which  they  stood. 
It  may  literally  be  said  "in  which  they  stood,"  for 
there  were  no  pews,  no  chairs,  not  even  a  solitary 
stool. 

Presently  the  chapel  began  to  fill,  and  "the 
pressure  from  without "  gradually  drove  the  ladies 
nearer  and  yet  nearer  to  the  altar.  At  length 
iFather  Prout  entered  in  his  clerical  attire,  and  com- 
menced the  service.  In  Catholic  churches  the  priest 
oRiciat?s,  during  the  early  part  of  the  service,  with 
his  face  to  the  altar,  and  his  back  to  the  congrega- 
tion. Thus,  it  happened  that  Prout  never  saw  his 
Cork  friends  until  the  time  when  he  turned  round  to 
the  congregation.  Then  he  beheld  them,  hand- 
somely and  fashionably  attired,  standing  up  (for  the 
"floor  was  too  puddled  to  allow  them  to  soil  their 


276  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

vesture  by  kneeling,  as  every  one  else  did),  the  gazed- 
at  by  all  beholders,  looking  and  feeling  the  reverse- 
of  comfortable. 

Father  Prout  immediately  looked  at  his  clerk, 
Pat  Marpliy, — an  original  in  his  way, — caught  his. 
eye  and  his  attention,  and  gently  inclining  towards 
him,  whispered,  "send  for  three  chairs  for  the  la- 
dies." Pat,  who  was  a  little  deaf,  imperfectly  caught, 
his  master's  words,  and  turned  round  to  the  congre- 
gation and  roared  out,  "  Boys !  his  Eeverence  says, 
'  Three  cheers  for  the  ladies.'  "  The  congregation,, 
obedient  and  gallant,  gave  three  tremendons  shouts, 
to  the  surprise  of  the  ladies  and.  the  horror  of  the 
priest.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  merriment  when 
the  mistake  was  explained,  but  to  his  dying  day 
Father  Prout  was  reminded,  whenever  he  visited 
Cork,  of  the  "  Three  cheers  for  the  ladies." 

Pat  Murphy,  his  clerk,  was  quite  a  character^ 
He  aifected  big  words,  and  ^vas  mortally  offended 
whenever  anyone  called  him  clerk  or  sexton.  "I 
pity  the  weakness  of  your  intellectual  organization," 
he  wo  aid  contemptuously  exclaim.  "If  yon  had 
only  brains  enough  to  distinguish  B  from  a  bull's 
foot,  you  would  appreciate  my  peculiar  and  appro- 
priate official  designation.  The  words  '  clerk  '  and 
*  sexton '  are  appellations  which  distinctify  the- 
menial  avocations  of  persons  employed  in  heretical 
places  :>f  worship.  My  situation  is  that  of  Sa- 
cristan    and  my  responsible  duty  is  to  act  as  cui>- 


FATIIEK    PKOUT.  277 

todian  of  ihd  sacred  uteusils  and  vestments  of  the 
chapel." 

Murphj  had  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  abilities 
■of  his  principal,  and  stoutly  maintained  that  if  the 
Pope  knew  what  was  good  for  the  Church,  he  would 
long  since  have  elevated  Father  Prout  to  the  epis- 
•copal  dignity.  His  chief  regret,  when  dying,  was, 
that  he  did  not  survive  to  see  (Jus  consummation. 

Sometimes  Pat  Murphy  would  condescend  to  en- 
ter into  a  viva  voce  controversy  with  one  of  the 
^'heretics,"  (as  he  invariably  designated  the  Protes- 
tants,) on  the  comparative  merits  of  the  rival  church- 
es. His  invariable  wind-up,  delivered  gravely  and 
authoritatively,  as  a  clincher,  to  which  he  would  per- 
mit no  reply,  was  as  follows  : — "I  commiserate  your 
•condition,  which  is  the  result  of  your  miserable  ig- 
norance. Unfortunate  individual !  out  of  the  Kew 
Testament  itself  I  can  prove  that  your  religion  is 
but  a  thing  of  yesterday.  With  you  Protestants 
the  Apostle  Paul  had  not  the  most  distant  acquaint- 
-ance,  whereas  he  corresponded  with  us  of  the  Holy 
Poman  Church.  You  doubt  it?  Know  you  not 
that,  from  Corinth,  he  wrote  an  Epistle  to  the  JRo- 
mans^  and  if  the  Protestants  were  in  existence  then, 
and  known  to  him,  why  did  he  not  as  well  send  an 
Epistle  unto  them  .^" 

Father  Prout  was  short  and  rotund.  His  Sacris- 
tan was  tall  and  thin.  Immemorial  usage  permits 
the  clerical  cast-off  garments  to  descend,  like  heir- 


278  BITS  OF  BLARXEY. 

looms,  to  tlie  parish  clerk.  Pat  Murphy,  in  the- 
threadbare  garments  which  erst  had  clothed  the  ro- 
tundity of  Father  Prout,  was  a  ludicrous  looking 
object.  The  doctrine  of  coraj)ensation  used  to  be- 
carried  out,  on  such  occasions,  with  more  trutli  than 
beauty.  The  waist  of  the  priest's  coat  would  find 
itself  under  Murphy's  arms,  the  wristbands  would 
barely  cover  his  elbows,  and  the  pantaloons,  sharing 
the  fate  of  the  other  garments,  would  end  at  his 
knees,  leaving  a  wide  interval  of  calf  visible  to  pub* 
lie  gaze.  On  the  other  hand,  by  way  of  equivalent^ 
the  garments  would  voluminously  wrap  around  him^ 
in  folds,  as  if  they  were  intended  to  envelope  not  one- 
Pat  Murphy,  but  three  such  examples  of  the  math- 
ematical definition,  "  length  without  breadth."  On 
one  occasion  I  had  the  double  satisfaction  of  seeing 
Father  Prout,  like  Solomon, *in  all  his  glory,  with  Pat 
Murphy  in  full  costume.  It  happened  in  this  "svise  r 
There  was  pretty  good  shooting  about  Watergrass- 
hill,  and  the  officers  of  an  infantry  regiment,  who- 
were  quartered  at  Fermoy,  at  the  period  to  which  I 
refer,  had  made  Prout's  acquaintance,  while  peppering 
away  at  the  birds,  and  had  partaken  of  a  capital  im- 
promptu luncheon  which  he  got  up  on  the  moment.. 
Prout,  it  may  be  added,  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
presents  of  game,  fish  and  poultry  from  his  friends  in 
Cork,  (the  mail-coaches  and  other  public  conveyances 
passing  his  door  several  times  every  day,)  and  a& 
long  as  Dan  Mergher,  of  Patrick-street,  was  in  th& 


FATHER  PROUT.  279 

•yyine-trade,  be  sure  that  his  friend,  Father  Prout,  did 
uot  want  good  samples  of  the  generous  juice  of  the 
grape  Of  course,  he  also  had  a  supply  of  real 
yotheen.  Cellar  and  larder  thus  provided  for,  Prout 
was  fond  of  playing  the  host. 

A  great  intimacy  speedily  sprung  up  between 
Prout  and  his  military  friends,  and  he  partook  of 
numerous  dinners  at  their  mess  in  Fermoy  Barracks. 
At  last,  determined  to  return  the  compliment,  he 
invited  them  all  to  dine  with  him  at  "Watergrass-hill. 
One  of  my  own  cousins,  who  happ.ened  to  be  one  of 
the  guests,  took  me  with  him  -  on  the  Roman  plan, 
I  presume,  which  permitted  an  invited  guest  to  bring 
his  shade.  I  was  a  youngster  at  the  time,  but  re- 
member the  affair  as  if   it  were  of  yesterday. 

If  there  was  any  anticipation  of  a  spoiled  dinner, 
it  was  vain.  Prout,  who  was  on  intimate  terms  with 
all  his  neighbours  for  half  a  dozen  miles  round,  had 
been  wise  enough  to  invoke  the  aid  of  the  Protestant 
rector  of  Watergrass-hill,  who  not  only  lent  him 
plate,  china,  and  all  other  table  necessaries,  but — ■ 
what  was  of  more  importance — also  spared  him  the 
excellent  cook  who,  it  was  said,  could  compose  a 
dinner,  in  full  variety,  out  of  any  one  article  of  food. 
Each  of  the  officers  was  attended  at  table  by  his 
own  servant,  and  Pat  Murphy,  in  full  dress,  officiated 
as  sarvitor,  at  the  particular  disposal  of  Father 
Prout  himself. 

The    dinner   was    excellent, — well-cooked,   well- 


280  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

served,  and  worthy  of  praise  for  tlie  abundance,  va- 
riety, and  excellence  of  tlie  viands.  There  was  every- 
thing to  be  pleased  with — nothing  to  smile  at. 

I  beg  to  withdraw  the  last  four  words.  There  was 
Pat  Murphy,  in  an  ex-suit  of  Front's,  looking  such  a 
figure  of  fun,  that,  on  recalling  the  scene  now,  I  ^^'on- 
der  how,  one  and  all,  we  did  not  burst  into  a  shout  of 
laughter  when  he  first  was  presented  to  view.  He 
looked  taller,  and  scraggier,  and  leaner  than  usual — 
his  clothes  appearing  greater  misfits  than  ever !  Prout, 
Avho  kept  his  countenance  remarkably  well,  evidently 
saw  and  enjoyed  the  ludicrous  appearance  of  his 
man.  On  the  other  hand,  the  man,  taking  on  him- 
self the  duties  of  Major  Domo,  ordered  the  other 
attendants  about  in  all  directions,  muttering  curses 
between  his  teeth  whenever  they  did  not  do  exactly 
as  he  commanded.  But  everything  went  oft"  gaily, 
and  Prout's  rubicund  face  became  redder  and  more 
radiant  under  the  influence  of  this  success. 

In  the  course  of  the  entertainment,  Father  Prout, 
addressing  his  attendant,  said,  "  Pat,  a  glass  of 
porter,  if  you  please."  The  liquor  was  poured,  and, 
as  it  frothed  in  the  glass,  Prout  raised  it  to  his  lips 
with  the  words,  "  Thank  you,  Pat."  Waiting  until 
he  had  completed  the  draught,  Pat,  in  a  tone  of 
earnest  remonstrance,  said,  "  Ah,  then,  your  Rever- 
ence, why  should  you  thank  me  for  what's  your 
own?  It  would  be  decent  for  these  genteels  who 
are  dining  here,  to  thank  me  for  the  good  drink. 


FATHER    PROUT.  281 

but  youVe  no  riglit  to  do  anything  of  the  sort,  seeing 
that  the  liquor  is  your  own.  It  is  my  supplication 
that  you  will  not  do  so  again ;  there  is  an  incongruity 
in  it  which  I  disrelish."  We  had  some  difficulty  in 
not  laughing,  but  contrived  to  keep  serious  faces 
during  this  colloquy. 

Tlie  liberality  of  the  little  Padre  had  provided  us 
with  thre3  courses,  and  just  as  Pat  Murphy  was  in 
the  act  of  relieving  a  noble  roasted  haunch  of  mutton, 
before  his  master,  by  a  dish  of  snipe,  he  happened  to 
look  out  of  the  window  -and  see  one  of  his  own 
familiar  associates  passing  along  the  street.  Hastily 
flinging  down  the  dish,  he  threw  up  the  window,  and, 
kneeling  down,  wdth  his  long  arms  resting  on  the 
sill,  loudly  hailed  his  friend,  "  Where  are  ye  going, 
Tom  ?"  The  answer  was  that  a  dance  was  expected 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  at  which,  of  course,  Pat 
would  be  "  to  the  fore."  Now,  the  said  Pat,  very 
much  like  Ichabod  Crane  in  figure,  had  a  sort  of 
:sneaking  desire,  like  him,  to  be  wherever  pretty 
women  were  to  be  seen.  "No,"  said  Pat,  "I  do 
not  anticipate  to  be  relieved  in  any  thing  like  proper 
time  from  attendance  here  this  evening.  His 
Reverence,  who  has  been  ating  and  drinking,  with 
remarkable  avidity,  on  the  military  officers  down  in 
Fermoy,  is  hospitable  to-day,  and  entertains  the 
whole  squad  of  them  at  dinner.  To  see  them  ate, 
you'd  think  they  had  just  got  out  of  a  hard  Lent. 
"'Tisn't  often,  I  dare  say,  that  they  get  such  a  feast. 


282  BITS   OF   BLARXEY. 

There's  the  mutton  sent  by  Chetwood  of  Glanmire ;: 
and  the  poultry  by  Cooper  Penrose  of  Wood-hill ; 
and  the  lashings  of  game  by  Devonshire  of  Kilshan- 
neck  ;  and  the  fruit  by  Lord  Riversdale  of  Lisnegar 
— that  is,  by  his  steward,  for  'tis  little  his  Lordship 
sees  of  the  place  that  gives  him  a  good  six  thousand 
a  year; — and  the  barrel  of  porter  from  Tommv 
Walker  of  Fermoy;  and  the  wine  from  red-faced 
Dan  Meagher  of  Cork ;  and  everything  of  the  best. 
Depend  on  it,  the  officers  won't  stir  until  they  have- 
made  fools  of  all  the  provender.  By-and-bye,  that 
the  poor  mightn't  have  a  chance  of  the  leavings,  thej 
will  be  calling  for  grilled  bones,  and  devilled  legs^ 
and  gizzards.  No,  Tom,  my  mind  misgives  me  that 
I  can't  go  to  the  dance  this  evening.  Here's  the  offi- 
cers, bad  'cess  to  them,  that  are  sedentary  fixtures- 
until  midnight." 

This  oration  delivered, — and  every  one  had  been 
silent  while  Pat  Murphy  was  thus  unburthening  his 
mind, — he  arose  from  his  knees,  closed  the  window, 
and  resumed  his  place  behind  Father  Prout,  with  "  a 
countenance  more  of  "sorrow  than  of  anger,"  calm 
and  unconcerned  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  out  of 
the  ordinary  routine.  At  that  moment,  Prout  threw 
himself  back  on  his  chair,  and  laughed  until  the  tears 
rolled  down  his  cheeks,  and  thus  encouraged,  the 
company  followed  his  example,  and  laughed  also. 
AVhen  the  mirth  had  subsided,  it  was  almost  re- 
newed by  the  solemn  countenance  of  Pat  Murphy^ 


FATHER   PROUT.  28S 

grave  rather  than  severe  —  a  sort  of  domestic 
]\[arius  sitting,  in  sad  contemplation,  amid  the  ruins 
of  Carthage. 

Father  Prout  had  rather  a  rough  set  of  parishioners 
to  deal'with.  He  could  be,  and  was,  very  much  of 
the  gentleman,  but  it  pleased  him  to  appear  plain 
and  unpolished  to  those  among  whom  his  lot  was 
cast.  At  times,  Avhen  nothing  else  would  do,  he 
would  address  them,  in  an  exhortation,  very  much 
in  the  spirit  of  Swift's  "  if  you  like  the  conditions,, 
down  with  the  dust!"  At  such  times,  Rabelais,  "in 
his  easy  chair,"  would  have  smiled,  and  Swift  him- 
self would  have  hailed  Prout  as  a  congenial  spirit. 

I  have  a  memorandum  of  one  of  these  sermons. 
The  object  was  to  collect  some  arrears  of  "  dues  " 
from  certain  non -paying  parishioners,  (constituting 
rather  a  large  portion  of  his  congregation,)  and  I 
have  been  told  that  the  discourse  was  much  to  this- 
effect : 

FATHER  PROUTS  SERMON. 

Somewhere  in  the  Scriptures  it  is  written,  that 
whoever  gives  to  the  poor  lends  to  the  Lord.  There 
are  three  reasons  why  I  don't  tell  you  exactly  where 
this  may  be  found.  In  the  first  place,  poor  creatures 
that  you  are,  few  of  you  happen  to  have  the  author- 
ized Douay  edition,  printed  and  published  by  Richard 
Coyne  of  Dublin,  and  certified  as  correct  by  Arcu- 
bishop  Troy,  and  the  other  heads  of  the  Church  ia 


"284  HITS   OP^   BLARNEY. 

Ireland — few  among  you,  I  say,  have  that,  thougli  I 
know  that  there  is  not  a  house  in  the  parish  with- 
out a  loose  song-book,  or  the  History  of  the  Irish 
Rogues.  In  the  second  place,  if  ye  had  it,  'tis  few 
•of  ye  could  read  it,  ignorant  haythens  that  'ye  are. 
And  in  the  third  place,  if  every  man-jack  of  ye  did 
possess  it,  and  could  read  it,  (for  the  Church  still  ad- 
mits the  possibility  of  miracles,)  it  would  not  much 
matter  at  this  present  moment,  because  it  happens 
that  I  don't  quite  remember  in  what  part  of  it  the 
text  is  to  be  found ; — for  the  wickedness  of  my  flock 
has  affected  my  memory,  and  driven  many  things 
clean  out  of  my  head,  which  it  took  me  a  deal  of 
trouble  to  put  into  it  when  I  was  studying  in  foreign 
parts,  years  ago.  But  it  don't  matter.  The  fault  is 
not  mine,  but  yours,  ye  unnatural  crew,  and  may-be 
ye  won't  find  it  out,  to  your  cost,  before  ye  have  been 
five  minutes  quit  of  this  life.    Amen. 

"He  who  gives  to  the  poor." — Ye  are  not  skilled 
in  logic,  nor  indeed  in  anything  that  I  know  except 
playing  hurley  in  the  fields,  scheming  at  cards  in 
public-houses  for  half  gallons  of  porter,  and  defraud- 
ing your  clergy  of  their  lawful  dues.  What  is  worse, 
there's  no  use  in  trying  to  drive  logic  into  your 
heads,  for  indeed  that  would  be  the  fulfilment  of 
another  text  that  speaks  of  throwing  pearls  before 
pigs.  But  if  ye  did  know  logic — which  ye  don't — 
ye  w  ould  perceive  at  once  that  the  passage  I  have 
just  quoted  naturally  divides  itself  into  two  branches. 


FATHER  PROUT's  SERMON.        285- 

The  first  involves  the  giving;  that  is,  rationally  and 
sjllogistically  considered,  what  ye  ought  to  do. 
And  the  second  involves  the  poor ;  that  is,  the  re- 
ceivers of  the  gifts,  or  the  persons  for  whom  ye 
ought  to  do  it. 

First,  then,  as  to  the  giving.  IS'ow  it  stands  to 
reason  that,  as  the  Scripture  says  in  some  other 
place,  the  blind  can't  lead  the  blind,  because  may- 
be they'd  fall  into  the  bog-holes,  poor  things,  and 
get  drowned.  And  so,  though  there  really  is  won- 
derful kindness  to  each  other  among  them,  it  is  not 
to  be  expected  that  the  poor  can  give  to  the  poor. 
'No,  the  givers  must  be  people  who  have  something 
to  give,  which  the  poor  have  not.  Some  of  ye  will 
try  and  get  off  on  this  head,  and  say  that  'tis  gladly 
enough  ye'd  give,  but  that  really  ye  can't  afford  it. 
Can't  ye  ?  If  you  make  up  your  minds,  any  one 
of  you,  to  give  up  only  a  single  glass  of  spirits, 
every  day  of  your  lives,  see  what  it  will  come  to  in 
the  course  of  a  year,  and  devote  that  to  the  Church 
— that  is  to  the  Clergy — and  it  will  be  more  than 
some  of  the  well-to-do  farmers,  whom  I  have  in  my 
eye  at  this  blessed  moment,  have  had  the  heart  to 
give  me  during  the  last  twelve  months.  Why,  as 
little  as  a  penny  a  day  comes  to  moie  than  thirty 
shillings  in  the  year,  and  even  that  insignificant 
trifle  I  have  not  had  from  some  of  you  that  have  the 
means  and  ought  to  know  better.'  I  don't  want  to 
mention  names,  but,  Tom  Murphy  of  the  Glen,  I 


"286  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

am  afraid  1  shall  be  compelled  to  name  you  before 
tlie  whole  congregation,  some  day  before  long,  if 
you  don't  pay  up  your  lawful  dues.  I  won't  say 
more  now  on  that  subject,  for,  as  St.  Augustine  says, 
"A  nod's  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse." 

Now,  the  moral  of  the  first  part  being  clearly 
shown,  that  all  who  can  give  ought  to  give,  the  next 
branch  is  to  whom  should  it  be  given?  The  blessed 
text  essentially  states  and  declares  "to  the  j^oor." 
Then  follows  the  inquiry,  who's  "the  poory  The 
whole  matter  depends  on  that. 

I  dare  say,  ignorant  as  ye  are,  some  of  you  will 
•think  that  it's  the  beggars,  and  the  cripples,  and  the 
blind  travellers  who  contrive  to  get  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  country,  guided  by  Prov- 
idence and  a  little  dog  tied  to  their  fingers  by  a  bit 
of  string.  No,  I  don't  want  to  say  one  mortal  word 
■against  that  sort  of  cattle,  or  injure  them  in  their 
honest  calling.  God  help  them.  It's  their  trade, 
their  estate,  their  occupation,  their  business  to  beg 
— just  as  much  as  'tis  Pat  Mulcahy's  business  to 
tailor,  or  Jerry  Smith's  to  make  carts,  or  Tom 
Shine's  to  shoe  horses,  or  Din  Cotter's  to  make 
potheen,  and  my  business  to  preach  sermons,  and 
save  your  souls,  ye  heathens.  But  these  ain't  "the 
poor"  meant  in  the  text.  They're  used  to  begging, 
and  they  like  to  beg,  and  they  thrive  on  begging, 
and  I,  for  one,  wouldn't  be  the  man  to  disturb  them 
in  the  practice  of  their  profession,  and  long  may  it 


FATHER   PROUT's   SERMON".  287 

he  a  provision  to  them  and  to  tlieir  heirs  for  ever. 
Amen. 

May -be,  ye  mean-spirited  creatures,  some  among- 
you  will  say  that  it's  yourselves  is  "the  poor." 
Indeed,  then,  it  isn't.  Poor  enough  and  niggardly 
ye  are,  but  you  ain't  the  poor  contemplated  by  holy 
Moses  in  the  text.  Sure  'tis  your  nature  to  toil  and 
to  slave — sure  'tis  what  ye're  used  to.  Therefore, 
if  any  one  Avere  to  give  anything  to  you,  he  would 
not  be  lending  to  the  Lord  in  the  slightest  degree, 
but  throwing  away  his  money  as  completely  as  if 
he  lent  it  upon  the  security  of  the  land  that's  covered 
by  the  lakes  of  Killarney.  Don't  flatter  yourselves, 
any  of  you,  for  a  moment,  that  you  are  "the  poor." 
I  can  tell  you  that  you're  nothing  of  the  sort. 

Now,  then,  we  have  found  out  who  should  be  the 
givers.  There's  no  mistake  about  that — reason  and 
logic  unite  in  declaring  that  every  one  of  you,  man, 
woman  and  child — should  give,  and  strain  a  point  to 
-do  it  liberally.  Next,  we  have  ascertained  that  it's 
"  the  poor "  who  should  receive  what  you  give. 
Thirdly,  we  have  determined  who  are  7iot  "  the  poor." 
Lastly,  we  must  discover  who  ai-e. 

Let  each  of  you  put  on  his  coi^sidering  cap  and 
think. — Well,  I  have  paused  that  you  might  do  so. 
Din  Cotter  is  a  knowledgeable  man  compared  with 
the  bulk  of  you.  I  wonder  whether  he  has  discov- 
ered who  are  "  the  poor."  He  shakes  his  head — but 
there  is  not  much  in  thai.     Well,  then,  you  give  it 


288  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

up.  You  leave  it  to  me  to  enligliten  you  all.  Learn^ 
then,  to  your  shame,  that  it's  the  Clei'gy  who  are 
"  the  poor." 

Ah!  you  perceive  it  now,  do  you?  The  light 
comes  in  through  your  thick  heads,  does  it  ?  Yes, 
it's  I  and  my  brethren  is  "  the  poor."  We  get  our 
bread— coarse  enough  and  dry  enough  it  usually  is 
— by  filling  you  with  spiritual  food,  and,  judging  by 
the  congregation  now  before  me,  its  ugly  mouths 
you  have  to  receive  it.  We  toil  not,  neither  do  we 
spin,  but  if  Solomon,  in  all  his  glory,  was  not  arrayed 
better  than  we  are,  instead  of  being  clothed  in  ver- 
min and  fine  linen,  'tis  many  a  time  he'd  be  wearing 
a  thread-bare  black  coat,  white  on  the  seams,  and  ouV 
at  the  elbows.  It's  the  opinion  of  the  most  learned 
scholars  and  Doctors  in  Divinity,  as  laid  down  before 
the  Council  of  Trent,  that  the  translation  is  not  suf- 
ficiently exact  in  regard  of  this  text.  And  they 
recommend  that  for  the  words  "  the  poor,"  we  should 
substitute  "  the  clergy."  Thus  corrected,  then,, 
the  text  would  read  "  he  who  gives  to  the  Clergy^ 
lends  to  the  Lord,"  which,  no  doubt,  is  the  proper  and 
undiluted  Scripture. 

The  words  of  the  text  are  thus  settled,  and  you 
have  heard  my  explanation  of  it  all.  Now  for  tho 
application.  Last  Thursday  w^as  a  week  since  the 
fair  of  Bartlemy,  and  I  went  down  there  to  buy  a 
liorse,  for  this  is  a  large  parish,  and  mortification 
an<i  fretting  has  puffed  me  up  so,  that,  God  helj> 


FATHER    PHOL't's   .SERMON.  289 

me,  'tis  little  able  I  am  to  walk  about  to  answer  all 
the  sick  calls,  to  saj  nothing  of  stations,  weddings, 
and  christenings.  Well,  I  bought  the  horse,  and  it 
cost  me  more  than  I  expected,  so  that  there  I  stood 
without  a  copper  in  my  pocket  after  I  had  paid  the 
dealer.  It  rained  cats  and  dogs,  and  as  I  am  so 
poor  that  I  can't  afford  to  buy  a  great  coat,  I  got 
wet  to  the  skin,  in  less  than  no  time.  There  you 
were,  scores  of  you,  in  the  public  houses,  with  the 
windows  up,  that  all  the  world  might  see  you  eating 
and  drinking  as  if  it  was  for  a  wager.  And  there 
was  not  one  of  you  who  had  the  grace  to  ask, 
"  Father  Prout,  have  you  got  a  mouth  in  your  face  ?" 
And  there  I  might  have  stood  in  the  rain  until  this 
blessed  hour  (that  is,  supposing  it  had  -<x)utinued 
raining  until  now),  if  I  had  not  been  picked  up  by 
Mr.  'Mun  Roche,  of  Kildinan,  an  honest  gentle- 
man, and  a  hospitable  man  I  must  say,  though  he 
is  a  Protestant.*  He  took  me  home  with  him,  and 
there,  to  your  eternal  disgrace,  you  villains,  I  got  as 
full  as  a  tick,  and  'Mun  had  to  send  me  home  in  his 
own  carriage — -which  is  an  everlasting  shame  to  all 
of  you,  who  belong  to  the  true  Church. 

Now,  I  ask  which  has  carried  out  the  text  ?  You 
who  did  not  give  me  evfen  a  poor  tumbler  of  punch, 
when  I  was  like  a  drowned  rat  at  Bartlemy,  or  'Mun 
Roche,  who  took  me  home,  and  filled  me  with  the 

*  Created  Lord  Fermoy  in  1855. 

13 


290  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

best  of  eating  and  drinking,  and  sent  me  to  my  own 
house,  after  tliat,  in  liis  own  elegant  carriage  ? 
Who  best  fulfilled  the  Scripture  ?  Who  lent  to 
the  Lord,  bj  giving  to  his  poor  Clergy  ?  Remem- 
ber, a  time  will  come  when  I  must  give  a  true  ac- 
count of  you  : — what  can  I  say  then  ?  Won't  1 
have  to  hang  down  my  head  in  shame,  on  your 
account  ?  'Pon  my  conscience,  it  would  not  much 
surprise  me,  unless  you  greatly  mend  your  ways, 
if  'Mun  Roche  and  you  won't  have  to  change  places 
on  that  occasion :  he  to  sit  alongside  of  me,  as  a 
friend  who  had  treated  the  poor  Clergy  well  in  this 
world,  and  you  in  a  certain  plac  \  which  I  won't 
particularly  mention  now,  except  to  hint  that  'tis 
little  frost  or  cold  you'll  have  in  it,' but  quite  the 
contrary.  However,  'tis  never  too  late  to  mend, 
and  I  hope  that  by  this  day  week,  it's  quite  another 
story  I'll  have  to  tell  of  you  all.-— Amen. 


lEISH    DANCING  MASTERS. 

FiVE-and-twenty  years  ago,  when  I  left  Ireland, 
the  original  or  aboriginal  race  of  country  dancing- 
masters  was  nearly  extinct.  By  this  time,  I  pre- 
sume, it  has  almost  died  out.  Here  and  there  a  few 
may  be  seen, 

"  Rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto." 

but  the  light-heeled,  light-hearted,  jovial,  genial  fel- 
lows who  were  actual  Masters  of  the  Revels  in  the 
district  to  which  they  respectively  belonged,  are  no- 
where. • 

There  used  to  be  as  much  pride  (and  property)  in 
a  village  dancing-master  as  in  a  village  schoolmas- 
ter, in  my  young  days,  and  I  have  heard  of  "  many 
accidents  by  flood  and  field,"  caused  by  attempts  to 
remove  a  dancing-master  or  a  pedagogue,  of  high 
reputation,  from  one  district  to  another.  In  such 
cases,  the  very  abduction  being  the  strongest  possi- 
ble compliment  to  his  renown,  the  person  who 
was  "enticed  away  by  force,"  ahVays  made  a  point 
of  offering  no  resistance,  and  would  passively  and 
proudly  await  the  result.  Indeed,  care  was  always 
taken  that  such  removal  should  be  actual  prefer- 
ment, as,  to  ameliorate  his  condition,  the  residency 


292  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

provided  for  him  in  the  new  village,  township,  or 
barony,  was  always  better  than  that  from  which  he 
was  removed. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  abduction,  of  schoolmas- 
ters was  a  favorite  practice  in  Kerry — where  every 
man  and  boy  is  supposed  to  speak  Latin* — while 
stolen  dancing-masters  did  not  abound  in  the  neigh- 
bouring counties  of  Cork  and  Limerick.  The  nat- 
ural inference  is  that  the  County  Kerry-men  pre- 
ferred the  culture  of  the  head,  while  the  others 
rather  cared  for  the  education  of  the  heels.     ^ 

To  have  a  first-rate  hedge-schoolmaster  was  a 
credit  to  any  parish.  To  have  engrossed  the  services 
of  an  eminent  maitre  de  danse  was  almost  a  matter 
of  considerable  pride  and  boasting,  but  to  possess 
hoth  of  these  treasures  was  indeed  a  triumph. 

*  There  are  full  grounds  for  this  assertion.  Classical  learning 
has  flourished  in  Kerry  (under  a  hedge)  from  time  immemorial. 
I  recollect  an  illustrative  anecdote.  Two  poor  scholars  who 
were  travelling  through  Kerry,  came  to  a  farm-bouse,  when 
fdint  with  hunger,  and  foot-sore  with  walking  ;  they  went  in,  and 
modestly  wanted  "  a  drink  of  water,"  which  was  given  them. 
On  leaving  the  house,  where  they  had  expected  something  bet- 
ter than  this  scant  hospitality,  one  of  them  exclaimed, "  Ah,  Pat, 
that's  not  the  way  tliat  a  farmer's  wife  would  trate  a  poor  schol- 
ar in  our  part  of  the  world.  '  I  is  the  good  bowl  of  milk  she'd 
give  him,  and  not  the  piggiu  of  cold  water.  She's  a  malus  mur 
Her"  The  other  responded  "  Say  mala — it  must  be  so  to  agree 
with  the  feminine  mulier.  Don't  you  know  that  malus  mulier 
is  bad  I^atin?"  "  Hold  your  tongue,"  was  the  answer  :  "  what- 
ever it  is,  it  is  only  too  good  for  a  niggard  like  her." 


IRISH   DANCING    MASTERS.  293 

There  was  more  pride,  perhaps,  in  having  a  school- 
master of  great  repute — more  pleasure  in  owning  a 
dancer  of  high  renown.  The  book-man  was  never 
known  to  dance,  and  the  village  Vestris  was  rarely 
able  to  write  his  name.  Thus  they  never  clashed. 
One  ruled  by  day,  and  the  other  had  unquestioned 
sovereignty  in  the  hours  between  dusk  and  dawn. 

Such  a  being  as  a  youthful  dancing-master  I  never 
saw — never  heard  of.  They  were  invariably  mid- 
dle-aged men,  at  the  youngest;  but  professors  of 
"the  poetry  of  motion,"  who  were  about  seventy, 
appeared  the  greatest  favourites.  It  was  dreaded, 
perhaps,  that  the  attraction  of  youth  and  good  danc- 
ing combined  would  be  too  much  for  the  village 
beauties  to  resist.  On  the  same  system,  in  all  prob- 
ability, it  was  a  sine  qud  non  that  the  dancing-mas 
ter  should  be  married. 

The  Irish  peasantry  used  to  have  a  sort  of  pas- 
sion for  dancing.  Hence  the  necessity  for  a  teacher. 
On  stated  evenings  during  the  winter,  no  matter 
what  obstacles  wet  weather  or  dirty  roads  might 
present,  a  large  company  of  pupils,  from  the  age  of 
ten  to  forty  years,  would  assemble,  in  some  roomy 
barn,  possessing  a  smooth  and  hard  floor  of  closely- 
pounded  clay,  to  receive  instructions  in  the  saltatory 
art.  Sometimes,  when  the  teacher  was  ambitious, 
he  would  flourishingly  open  the  proceedings  with 
what  was  called  "a bit  of  a  noration," — the  oratory 
principally  consisting  of  sesquipedalian  words  and 


294  fins  OF  blAh^'£\'. 

mythological  allusions,  being  composed  by  ibe 
schoolmaster — utterly  unintelligible,  but  sounding 
largely,  and  delivered  in  an  ore  rotundo  manner  and 
with  "a  laudable  voice,"  as  if  the  dancing-master 
really  understood  the  words  he  uttered.  Not  taking 
particular  pains  to  follow  "copy,"  and  frequently  put- 
ting in  words  of  his  own  when  those  written  down 
for  him  had  slipped  out  of  his  memory,  these  ora- 
tions were  amusingly  absurd.  They  invariably 
commenced  with  an  allusion  to  Miriam  dancing  be- 
fore Moses,  after  the  passage  of  the  Eed  Sea,  (on 
which  occasion,  no  doubt,  was  first  heard  "  the  piper 
who  played  before  Moses,"  familiarly  named  in 
Irish  colloquy,)  and,  passing  down,  through  Homer 
and  the  classics,  always  ended  with  a  warm  eulogy 
on  the  antiquity  of  the  dance. 

In  those  days,  the  favourite  exhibitions  were  the 
jig,  the  reel,  the  hornpipe,  and  the  country-dance. 
The  last-named  was  considered  dreadfully  genteel — 
too  aristocratic,  in  fact,  for  the  multitude — and  was 
learned  and  practiced  (as  courting  and  kissing  often 
are)  on  the  sly!  The  reel  was  countenanced — and 
no  more.  It  was  rather  Scotch  than  Irish.  Every 
one  was  expected  to  be  able  to  go  that  laborious 
piece  of  amusement  called  "The  Sailor's  Hornpipe," 
— faint  vestiges  of  which  are  extant,  to  this  hour, 
in  nautical  scenes, — as  represented  on  the  stage. 
Words  cannot  describe  the  evolutions  ol  this  re- 
markable dance,  when  exhibited  with  all  the  scien- 


IRISH   DANCING   MASTERS.  295 

tific  varieties  of  wliicli  it  was  capable.  The  shuffles, 
cross-shuffles,  jumps,  hops,  leaps,  cuttings,  slides, 
and  so  on,  which  were  introduced,  I  am  unable  to 
describe.  The  manner  in  which  "  heel-and-toe  "  was 
employed  and  varied,  some  abler  historian  may  re- 
cord. 

That  the  hours  passed  away  on  swift  pinions  at 
these  dancing  academies,  may  well  be  imagined. 
There  was  any  quantity  of  flirtation  at  all  times, 
and  about  half  the  marriages  in  the  country  owed 
their  origin  to  these  reunions.  It  is  creditable  to 
the  proverbial  good  conduct  of  my  countrywomen, 
that  loss  of  character  rarely,  if  ever,  resulted  from 
these  free-and-easy  meetings. 

The  real  glory  of  the  evening,  however,  was  when 
the  dancing-master,  after  a  world  of  solicitation, 
would  "take  the  flure,"  in  order  to  give  his  admir- 
ing pupils  a  touch  of  his  quality.  On  such  an  occa- 
sion, the  door  of  the  house  would  be  lifted  off  its 
hinges,  and  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  floor.  Aban- 
doning the  little  kit  (a  small-sized  violin)  which  was 
his  companion  at  all  other  exhibitions,  he  would 
allow  a  blind  piper  to  "discourse  most  excellent 
music,"  and,  on  the  door,  would  commence  that 
wondrous  display  of  agility,  known,  in  my  time,  as 
"  cover  the  buckle ;" — a  name  probably  derived 
from  the  circumstance  that  the  dancing-master,  while 
teaching,  always  wore  large  buckles  in  his  shoes,  and 
by  the  rapidity  of  motion  with   which  he  would 


296  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

fhake  his  "many  twinkling  feet"  perpetually  cross, 
would  seem  to  "cover"  the  appendages  in  question. 
The  great  effort  was  to  exhibit  all  varieties  of  steps 
and  dances,  without  once  quitting  the  prostrate  door 
on  which  the  exhibitor  took  his  stand.  The  jumps, 
the  "cuttings"  in  the  air,  the  bends,  the  dives,  the 
wrigglings,  the  hops — these  were  all  critically  re- 
garded by  his  audience,  and  sometimes  rewarded 
with  such  exclamations  as  "  That's  the  way," — "  now 
for  a  double  cut," — "  cover-the-buckle,  ye  divel," — 
"  Oh,  then,  'tis  he  that  handles  his  feet  nately." 
At  the  conclusion,  when  he  literally  had  danced 
hiHiself  almost  off  his  legs,  he  "svould  bow  to  the 
company,  and — if  he  were  very  much  a  favourite,  or 
had  eclipsed  all  former  displays — one  of  the  pret- 
tiest girls  in  the  room  would  go  round,  plate  in 
in  hand,  and  make  a  collection  for  him.  How  the 
ten-penny  and  five-penny  bits  would  tumble  in,  on 
those  occasions  —  particularly  if  the  fair  collector 
could  be  induced  to  announce,  wdth  a  blush  and  a 
smile,  that  she  would  take  an  extra  donation  on  the 
usual  terms,  which  meant  that,*  for  five  shillings  into 
the  plate,  any  gallant  swain  might  brush  the  dew 
from  her  own  coral  lijDs,  on  that  occasion  onlj^  and 
by  particular  desire.  Can  you  doubt,  for  a  moment, 
that  the  likely  "boy"  who  had  bet  a  sitting  by  her 
side  all  the  evening,  making  babies  on  her  eyes  (as 
the  saying  is),  and  with  his  arm  round  her  waist,  just 
to  steady  her  in  her  seat,  would  jump  up  and  fling 


IRISH   DANCING    MASTERS.  297 

his  crown-pipce  into  the  treasury — though  the  pecu- 
niary sacrifice  would  probably  involve  his  being 
obliged  to  dispense,  for  a  few  weeks  more,  with  "the 
new  Carline  hat"  on  which  his  dandyism  had  set  its 
mind,  for  his  Sunday  adorning! 

It  was  difficult  foi  "an  outsider"  to  become  a 
spectator  of  the  peculiar  modes  of  teaching  adopted 
and  practiced  by  these  masters.  At  a  small  extra 
rate,  they  would  undertake  to  give  instructions  in 
that  "  deportment,"  of  which  the  late  Mr.  Turvey- 
drop  was  such  an  illustrious  exeni{)lar.  I  never 
witnessed  anything  of  this  sort,  but  have  conyersed 
on  the  subject  with  some  who  did.  From  what  I 
could  learn,  the  whole  course  of  tuition  in  this  par- 
ticular branch  must  have  been  ludicrous  in  the  ex- 
treme. Besides  lessons  in  standing,  walking,  sitting, 
and  evon  leaning  with  grace  and  ease,  more  recon- 
dite points  were  considered.  Such  were  "how  to 
slide  out  of  a  room  backwards"  (on  the  chance,  no 
doubt,  of  some  of  the  rustics  having  to  appear  at 
Court,  before  Royalty) — "how  to  accept  a  tumbler 
of  punch  'from  a  gentleman,"  touching  the  liquid 
with  her  lips,  so  as  to  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 
as  Ben  Jonson  advises, — "how  to  refuse  a  kiss," 
and  yet  not  destroy  the  hope  of  its  being  accepted, 
a  little  later  in  the  evening, — and,  above  all,  "how 
to  take  a  kiss,"  in  the  most  genteel  and  approved 
manner  of  politeness !  These  instructions,  super- 
a'lded  to  a  lesson  that  was  called  "  the  Grecian 
13* 


298  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

bend"  (which  was  nothing  less  than  a  coquettish 
way  of  leaning  forward,  with  the  eyes  cast  down, 
while  listening  to  soft  nonsense  from  a  favoured 
swain),  w^re  peculiar  and  private.  The  only  way 
in  which  the  male  sex  could  obtain  a  glimpse  at 
such  Eleusinian  mystenes  was  by  taking  a  recum- 
bent position  on  the  roof  of  the  house,  carefully  re- 
moving a  small  portion  of  the  thatch,  and  using  eyes 
and  ears  in  that  situation  to  the  best  advantage. 
If  detected  by  the  irate  maidens,  the  spy  would  run 
a  fair  chance  of  a  scratched  face  and  well-boxed 
ears.  . 

As  might  be  expected,  the  country  dancing-master 
sometimes  had  stupid  and  refractory  pupils.  There 
was  a  common  method  of  giving  them  instruction, 
which,  for  its  practical  simplicity,  may  be  worth  re- 
lating. When  the  pupil  would  persist  in  not  recol- 
lecting which  foot  was  to  be  used,  at  particular 
periods,  the  dancing-master  would  take  a  rope  made 
of  twisted  hay,  called  a  suggaun,  and  fasten  it  around 
one  of  the  delinquent's  ankles.  He  would  then  take 
a  similar  bracelet  of  twisted  willow,  denominated  a 
gad,  and  put  this  on  the  other.  Then,  instead 
of  directing  the  pupil  to  the  particular  use  or  motion- 
of  the  right  leg  or  the  left,  he  would  exclaim,  "  Kise 
upon  suggaun,^^  or  "  Sink  upon  gad,^^  and  in  this 
manner  convey  his  instructions  beyond  a  possibility 
of  mistake  by  even  the  most  stupid ! 

Of  course,  where  there  was  large  company  f"^ 


IRISH   DAKCING   MASTERS.  299 

young  people,  full  of  life  and  spirit,  under  pupilage 
to  a  not  young  instructor,  a  variety  of  practical 
Jokes  would  be  perpetrated,  at  his  expense,  every 
now  and  then.  They  were  almost  invariably  of  a 
good-natured  kind.  One,  which  might  be  consid- 
ered as  to  "be  repeated  every  night  until  farther 
notice,"  generally  came  off  towards  the  end  of  the 
evening.  A  joyous,  light-hearted  damsel  would 
suddenly  start  up,  while  the  music  was  playing,  and, 
placing  herself  before  the  dancing-master,  with  that 
particular  description  of  curtsy  called  "  a  bob," 
silently  challenge  him  to  dance  with  her.  Now, 
under  all  circumstances,  except  actual  inability  to 
move,  the  gentleman  so  challenged  has  nothing  to 
do  but  pick  up  the  gauntlet,  and  "take  the  flure." 
Then,  challenger  and  challenged  would  commence 
an  Irish  jig — a  dance  so  violent  that,  writing  in  the 
dog-days  as  I  do,  the  very  recollection  of  it  makes 
me  feel  as  if  the  barometer  was  some  two  hundred 
in  the  shade.  When  the  damsel  had  pretty  well 
tired  herself,  one  of  her  fair  friends  would  take  her 
place,  and  so  on  until  a  round  dozen  or  so  had  had 
their  turn.  All  this  time,  the  doomed  victim  of  a 
man  had  to  continue  dancing — and  the  point  of 
honour  was  to  do  so,  without  giving  in,  as  long  as 
strength  and  wind  lasted.  The  company  would 
gjther  round,  forming  a  ring  for  the  performers,  and 
the  word  would  be,  "  On  with  the  dance  "  (as  it  was, 
at  Brussels,  on  the  eve  of  Waterloo),  until,  at  last, 


300  BITS   OF   BLARNEY; 

some  male  spectator  would  pityingly  dash  into  the 
circle,  take  the  tired  man's  place,  and  permit  the 
breathless  and  exhausted  victim  to  totter  to  a  seat, 
gasping  out  a  protest,  as  he  did,  that  he  could  have 
held  out  for  half  an  hour  longer,  and  wondered  why 
any  gentleman  should  interfere  with  another  gentle- 
man's divarshun. 

In  the  preceding  story  of  "  The  Petrified  Piper," 
mention  is  made  of  a  dancing-master  commonly 
known  as  "  Ould  Lynch."  He  was  an  original,  in 
many  respects,  and,  like  many  of  his  profession, 
was  in  a  constant  flutter  of  faded  finery  and  actual 
poverty.  He  was  so  much  a  character  that  my 
father  took  rather  a  fancy  to  him,  and  had  him  often 
at  the  house,  as  a  teacher  of  dancing,  in  the  well 
populated  town  of  Fermoy.  He  had  small  chance  of 
earning  what  would  keep  life  and  soul  together. 
But  he  was  a  quiet,  unassuming  man,  better  edu- 
cated than  most  of  his  class,  and  full  of  anecdote. 
One  social  virtue  he  eminently  possessed: — he  was 
one  of  the  best  backgammon  players  I  ever  saw, 
and  (I  speak  it  modestly,)  was  very  fond  of  me  as 
a  pupil. 

Lynch  was  a  County  Limerick  man,  on  the  con- 
fines of  "the  Kingdom  of  Kerry,"  and  informed 
me  that,  in  the  parish  where  he  was  brought  up, 
the  natives  had  a  passion  for  backgammon,  and 
were  wont,  on  high-days  and  holidays,  to  hold  tour- 
naments (on  their  fiivourite  game)  with  the  inhab- 


IRISFI   DANCING    MASTERS.  801 

itaiits  of  the  next  parish,  in  Kerry.  Unfortunately 
one  day  when  a  great  trial  of  skill  was  appointed 
to  come  off,  it  turned  out  that  no  backgammon 
box  was  forthcoming.  Both  parties  had  contrived 
to  forget  it.  To  send  for  the  necessary  implements 
would  have  been  a  waste  of  time,  when  the  com- 
batants had  "  their  sjuIs  in  arms,"  and  were  "eager 
for  the  fray."  In  this  dilemma,  a  lad  Avho  had  a 
decided  genius  for  expedients  suggested  a  plan  by 
Avhich,  without  delay,  their  mutual  wishes  could  be 
realized.  Under  his  advice,  one  of  the  meadows 
was  fixed  upon  as  the  scene  of  action.  The  turf 
was  removed  at  intervals,  so  as  to  make  the  place 
present  the  semblance  of  a  backgammon  board, 
and  substitutes  for  men  were  readily  found  in  the 
flat  stones  and  slates  with  which  the  ground 
abounded.  The  great  difficulty  was — the  dice! 
They  could  extemporize  board  and  men,  but  how 
to  raise  the  bits  of  ivory?  The  lad  was  not  to  be 
baffled.  He  proposed  that  two  men,  one  selected 
from  each  party,  should  sit  on  the  ditch  opposite 
each  other,  with  "the  board  in  the  centre,  with 
their  respective  backs  turned  from  the  combatants, 
and,  in  turn,  should  call  out  the  numbers,  as  if 
they  had  been  actually  thrown  by  dice !  This  bril- 
liant idea  was  acted  upon.  A  halfpenny  was  thrown 
up  to  decide  who  should  have  first  play,  and  the 
men  on  the  ditch  alternately  called  out,  at  will,  any 


302  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

of  the  throws  which  micrht  have  been  actually  oast 
had  the  dice  themselves  been  "  to  the  fore." 

Such  primitive  practice,  I  venture  to  say,  had 
nev^^r  b3fore  been  applied  to  the  noble  science  of 
backgammon.  I  use  the  word  advisedly,  because, 
\rith  skill  and  judgment,  what  is  called  bad  luck- 
does  not  very  materially  affect*  the  game.  The  art 
is  to  conquer,  despite  bad  throwing. 

Lynch  succeeded  a  worthy  named  Hearne — a  nom 
de  guerre^  his  enemies  avorred,  for  the  less  eu])honi- 
ous  one  of  Herring.  Whatever  his  name,  the  man 
was  quite  a  character.  He  fancied  himself  a  poet, 
and-  was  particularly  fond  of  taking  his  favourite 
pupils  aside  to  communicate  to  them  in  a  confiden- 
tial manner,  sotto  voce,  the  latest  productions  of  his 
muse, — it  being  expected  that,  a  little  lat^r  in  the 
evening,  the  favoured  individuals  should  delicately 
draw  him  out  and  solicit  him  to  a  public  recital  of 
his  verses.  After  a  good  deal  of  pressing  on  their 
part,  and  a  show  of  resistance  on  his,  (which  every 
one  understood,)  the  little  dancing-master  would 
mount  on  a  table,  deliver  a  flourishing  preface  in 
prose,  and  then  go  through  the  recitation,  in  a  man- 
ner which  set  description  at  defiance.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  this  feat,  which  was  duly  encored,  Hearne 
was  wont  to  distribute  copies  of  his  composition 
printed  ol  whity -brown  paper,  and  the  tribute  of 
a  five-per::y  bit  was  expected  in  acknowledgment 


IRISH   DANCING    MASTERS.  303 

of  the  same — simply,  as  he  said,  "to  pay  for  the 
printing."  He  had  such  a  peculiar  system  of  orthog- 
raphy—  spelling  the  words  by  the  sound — ^that  I 
venture,  with  all  due  diffidence,  to  put  forward  his 
claim  to  take  precedence  of  the  interesting  and  wor- 
thy founders  of  the  newspaper-nondescript,  The 
Fojietic  N'uZj  at  which  the  Londoners  laughed  heart- 
ily a  dozen  years  ago.  By  some  accident,  I  have 
preserved  a  copy  of  one  of  Hearne's  poetical  com- 
positions, in  which  his  own  mode  of  spelling  is  care- 
fully* preserved,  and  I  subjoin  it  as  a  curiosity, — a 
specimen  of  what  emanated,  some  thirty  years  ago, 
from  one  who  belonged  to  the  peculiar  class  (of 
which  Grant  Thorburn  is  the  head)  worthy  of  being 
called  The  Illiterate  Lit^erati ! 


"  A  few  lions  addressed  in  prease  of  Mr.  Jon  Anderson,  Esquire, 
by  his  humble  servant,  and  votary  of  the  Muses,  Wm.  Ahearne, 
profesor  of  dancing.    > 

'  Who  lives  in  this  Eadea  wich  lyes  to  the  easte 
Of  Fermoy  oald  bridge  and  its  pallasades ; 
He  is  the  best  man  on  the  Blackwater's  breast, 
As  thousans  from  povirty  he  has  razed. 

"  There's  no  grand  Pear  in  all  Urop  this  day, 

Witii  him  can  compare  most  certinly, 
In  bildiug  a  town  of  buty  and  sweay 
Af!  Fermoy  and  its  gay  sweet  liberty. 


304  BITS   OF   BLAIiNEY. 

"  Now,  weagh  well  the  case  betwin  him  and  those 
Who  travel  the  globe  and  fair  Itly, 
After  skroozhing  their  tinuants  hard  when  at  home, 
And  spiudiug  their  store  most  foulishly." 

The  most  original  idea  in  these  "few  lions,"  is  the 
geographical  information  that  Italy  is  not  a  part  of 
the  globe.  In  the  pen-ultimate  line,  the  poet  may 
have  hinted  a  little  sly  satire  at  the  "at  home"  in 
high  life,  where  the  crushing  of  hundreds  into  a 
space  where  tens  can  scarcely  sit  in  comfort  is  es- 
teemed a  great  feat, 

A  wealthy  attorney,  named  Henley,  who  had  been 
kind  to  Hearne,  was  the  object  of  an  eulogistic 
"pome."     It  ran  somewhat  thus: 

There  is  a  barrister  of  great  fame 

In  Fermoy,  I  do  declare. 
Who  administers  strict  justas 

Without  bribery  or  dessate. 
May  God  prolong  your  days, 

Your  Court  to  reglate, 
And  force  sly  roges  and  villines 

To  pay  their  dews  and  rates. 


CHARLEY   CROFTS. 

In  the  immortal  "Maxims  of  O'Doherty,"  writ- 
ten by  the  late  Dr.  Maginn,  mention  is  made  of  a 
dinner  at  the  late  Lord  Doneraile's,  in  the  South  of 
Ireland,  in  which  a  reproof  was  administered  to  his 
Lordship's  meanness  in  the  article  of — tippling.  He 
says,  "  My  friend,  Charley  Crofts,  was  also  of  the 
party.  The  claret  went  lazily  round  the  table,  and 
his  Lordship's  toad-eaters  hinted  that  they  preferred 
punch,  and  called  for  hot  water.  My  Lord  gave  in, 
after  a  humbug  sliow  of  resistance,  and  whiskey- 
punch  was  in  a  few  minutes  the  order  of  the  night. 
Charley,  however,  to  the  annoyance  of  the  host, 
kept  swilling  away  at  the  claret,  on  which  Lord 
Doneraile  lost  all  patience,  and  said  to  him,  'Charley, 
you  are  missing  quite  a  treat ;  this  punch  is  so  ex- 
cellent.' '  Thank  ye,  my  Lord,'  said  Charley, '  I  am 
a  plain  man,  who  does  not  want  trates ;  I  am  no 
epicure,  so  I  stick  to  the  claret.'  " 

This  free-and-easy  gentleman,  of  whom  I  have 
some  personal  recollection,  belonged  to  a  class  of 
which,  I  suspect,  he  was  the  very  latest  specimen. 
Charley  Crofts,  who  had  acquired  no  book-learning, 
because  he  was  bora  to  a  large  landed  property,  was 

(805) 


306  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

of  a  respectublo  fiiuiilj  in  the  west  of  the  county 
Cork,  and,  even  in  his  decline,  was  highly  honoured 
by  the  multitude,  as  coming  from  "  the  good  ould 
stock."  Brought  up,  but  not  educated,  by  his 
mother,  Charley  entered  the  world  with  very  flat- 
tering prospects.  He  had  a  good  property,  good 
lov)ks,  good  tamper,  and  (what  he  most  prized)  good 
liorses.  Cursed  with  an  easy  disposition,  he  had 
never  learned  how  to  utter  the  monosyllable  "No,"  but 
had  unfortunately  learned  how  to  sign  his  name — 
his  friends  kindly  giving  him  very  frequent  oppor- 
tunities of  practicing  that  autograph,  by  obtaining  it, 
across  narrow  slips  of  stamped  paper,  ('yclept  "bills" 
and  "  promissory  notes  ")  underneath  the  words  "^c- 
cepted.,  'payable  at  the  Bank  of  James  Delacour^  Mallow.'^ 
In  the  long  run,  these  autographs  ruined  him — as, 
bit-by -bit,  all  his  property  went  to  meet  the  sums  to 
which  they  pkdged  him,  and  Charley  Crofts  found 
himself,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  without  home  or  money. 
He  had  preserved  one  thing,  however — his  personal 
charactej-.  He  had  committed  a  great  many  of  the 
frailties  of  his  sex  and  youth,  but  the  shadow  of  a 
disreputable  or  doubtful  action  never  rested  on 
his  name.  He  could  proudly  say,  like  Francis  the 
First,  after  the  battle  of  Pa  via,  "All  lost,  except 
honour." 

The  result  was  that,  in  his  poverty,  be  was  as 
highly  thought  of  as  in  his  affluence,  and  was  ever 
a  welcome  guest  in  the  first  houses  of  his  uative 
county. 


CHARLEY  CROFTS.  307 

Like  the  rest  of  his  class,  (I  mean  the  estated  Irish 
gentlemen  of  the  last  century,)  Charley  Crofts  had 
learned  to  drink  deeply.  He  used  to  narrate,  with 
great  glee,  an  incident  connected  with  his  entrance 
into  vivacious  habits.  His  mother,  having  occasion 
to  leave  their  country  residence,  in  order  to  transact 
some  business  in  Cork,  left  her  hopeful  son  in  ftdl 
possession  of  the  house  and  full  command  of  the 
servants,  for  the  fortnight  she  intended  being  absent. 
Charley,  who  was  then  in  his  sixteenth  year,  de- 
termined that  he  would  hold  no  powerless  sceptre  of 
vice-royalty,  and  invited  sundry  acquaintances  to 
visit  him,  which  they  did.  As  a  hogshead  of  fine 
claret  was  always  on  tap,  there  was  no  difficulty  in 
obtaining  an  adequate  supply  of  drink.  One  day, 
however,  a  guest  happened  to  express  a  desire  to 
vary  the  post-prandial  j)roceedings  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  few  bottles  of  port.  Now,  it  happened 
that  Mrs.  Crofts  possessed  (and  was  known  to  pos- 
sess) some  remarkably  fine  port  wine,  which  she 
carefully  kept  locked  up,  reserving  it  for  "State 
days  and  holidays."  Charley  had  been  left  the  key 
of  the  cellar,  and,  considering  that  his  hospitality 
was  especially  appealed  to,  by  the  hint  about  the 
port,  went  down  and  had  a  supply  brought  up. 
Thrt  afternoon's  performance  went-  rather  hard 
against  the  port.  Indoed,  so  much  of  it  was  drank 
that  Charley  Crofts  was  puzzled  how  to  account  for 
it,  without  making  full  confession.     A  few  days 


808  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

after  his  motlier's  return,  she  asked  him  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  cellar,  to  provide  a  suitable  location 
for  a  supply  of  sherry  which  she  expected  from 
Cork.  The  first  thing  which  attracted  her  notice 
was  the  remarkable  diminution  in  the  stock  of  hei 
valued  and  nearly  unique  port  wine.  Catching  hei 
eye,  Charley  anticipated  her  inquiry,  by  remarking 
that,  in  her  absence,  a  remarkable  thunder-stornc 
had  penetrated  to  the  cellar  and  broken  a  quantity 
of  the  bottled  wine.  Taking  up  two  or  three  of  the 
bottles,  and  fully  aware  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
repine  or  get  angry  over  the  mischief  done,  she  drew 
her  hopeful  son's  attention  to  them,  and  only  said, 
"A  dreadful  storm,  indeed !  It  has  actually  drawn 
the  corks  out  of  the  necks  of  the  bottles,  instead  of 
bursting  them  in  the  usual  way  !" 

For  the  last  five-and-thirty  years  of  his  life,  Char- 
ley Crofts  may  be  said  to  have  literally  lived  all 
around.  He  had  a  number  of  tried  friends,  who 
were  glad  to  have  him  as  their  guest  and  boon  com- 
panion, for  a  month  at  a  time.  lie  could  tell  a  good 
story,  knew  the  private  history  of  every  family  in 
the  county,  was  undoubted  authority  on  horse- 
flesh and  every  subject  connected  with  the  sports  of 
the  field,  and  could  take  any  quantity  of  wine  with- 
out its  apparently  affecting  him.  Nature  had  en- 
dowed him  witli  great  muscular  power,  immense 
physical  strength,  a  temper  which  nothing  could 
cloud,  and  a  mode  of  expression  so  terse  as  some* 


CHARLEY   CROFTS.  309 

times  to  be  almost  epigrammatic.  He  was  exactly 
qualified  for  the  shifting  sort  of  life  upon  which  he 
had  fallen. 

When  I  met  him,  the  brighter  portion  of  his  ca- 
reer had  passed.  He  was  but  the  wreck  of  Avhat  he 
once  had  been,  I  was  assured  by  every  one ;  but 
one  may  judge,  from  the  ruin,  what  the  structure 
had  been  in  its  pride.  Numerous  anecdotes  were 
afloat  as  to  his  saying  and  doings,  but  it  is  difficult 
to  realize  their  effect  in  our  days,  unless  you  could 
imagine  the  person  on  whom  they  were  affiliated. 
Though  I  fear  that  I  shall  fail  in  the  attempt,  I  shall 
endeavour  to  record  two  or  three. 

As  a  four-bottle  man,  who  could  drink  every  one 
else  under  the  table,  Charley  Crofts  Vras  not  so 
much  of  a  favourite  with  wives  as  with  their  hus- 
bands. They  knew,  by  experience,  that  with  Char- 
ley Crofts  in  the  van,  a  wet  evening  might  be  looked 
for — in  the  dining-room. 

Mr.  Wrixon,  of  Ballygiblin,  near  ^[allow,  (father 
of  Sir  W".  Wrixon-Becher,  who  married  Miss 
O'Neill,  the  eminent  actress,)  had  only  a  small 
hereditary  property  when  he  succeeded  to  vast 
estates,  on  condition  that  he  superadded  the  name 
of  "Becher"  to  his  own  patronymic.  As  plain 
Mr.  Wrixon,  with  a  small  property,  he  had  lived 
unnoticed,  but  his  circle  of  friends  immensely  in- 
creased when  he  became  Mr.  Wrixon-Becher,  and 
a  man  of  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year."     Soon  after,  he 


3l0  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

married  an  Englisli  ladj,  with  some  fortune,  much 
pride,  a  fair  sliare  of  beauty,  and  a  dccidecl  abhor- 
rence of  the  drinking  habits  of  her  husband's  friends. 
She  had  heard  of,  and  had  been  cautioned  against, 
the  Vxvacious  enormities  of  Charley  Crofts,  and  had 
actually  declared  to  her  husband  (in  private,  of 
course)  that  whenever  Mi  Crofts  took  a  seat  at 
her  table,  she  Avould  immediately  relinquish  hers. 

One  day,  when  Wrixon  had  been  out  with  the 
Duhallow  hounds,  and  the  run  had  been  quick  and 
long,  the  only  man  who  was  in  with  him  "  at  the 
death,"  was  Charley  Crofts,  and  under  the  circum- 
stances— the  rain  beginning  to  Ml  heavily.  Crofts' 
place  of  sojourn  being  at  least  ten  miles  distant,  and 
Bally giblin  at  hand, — Wrixon  felt  that  he  miist 
invite  Charley  home,  or  rest  under  the  imputation 
of  behaving  in  an  unsportsmanlike  and  inhospita- 
ble manner. 

So,  he  told  Charley  that  half  a  dozen  other  good 
fellows  were  to  take  "pot-luck"  with  him  that  day, 
and  that  he  must  insist  on  Charley's  joining  them. 
Without  any  pressing  or  denial,  the  invitation  w^as 
accepted. 

Now,  Charley  Crofts  knew,  just  as  well  as  if  he 
had  been  present  when  the  affair  was  discussed,  how 
and  why  it  Avas  that,  of  all  the  houses  in  the  barony 
of  Duhallow,  the  mansion  of  Ballygiblin  was  the 
only  one  to  which  he  had  not  a  general  invitation. 
Wrixon,  the  moment  he  reached  home,  turning  over 


CHARLEY  CROFTS.  311 

his  companion  to  the  friendly  custody  of  a  mutual 
acquaintance,  who  was  to  form  one  of  the  party  that 
day,  hastened  to  •'  his  lady's  chamber,"  where  he 
found  his  wife  dressed  for  dinner,  and  (as  her  glass 
told  her)  looking  remarkably  well.  A  few  well- 
expressed  and  well-timed  compliments  on  her  ap- 
pearance, a  congratulation  or  two  on  her  exquisite 
taste  in  dress,  a  half-hint  and  half-promise  as  to  the 
killing  effect  of  a  set  of  pearl  in  contrast  with  her 
ebon  looks,  and  more  "blarney"  of  the  same  sort, 
made  the  lady  so  very  gracious  that  the  husband 
ventured  to  communicate  under  what  circumstances 
he  had  been  compelled  to  invite  Charley  Crofts  to 
her  table.  The  lady  took  them,  as  they  sometimes 
do  in  French  courts  of  justice,  as  "extenuating  cir- 
cumstances," and  consented  to  receive  the  dreaded 
Charley.  This  done,  she  found  her  way  into  the 
drawing-room,  where  the  guests  waited  upon  her — 
the  most  subdued  and  quiet  of  them  being  Charley 
Crofts.  At  first,  with  his  grave  air  and  grave  attire, 
she  thought  that  he  might  have  been  a  clergyman. 

As  the  only  stranger  in  the  party,  Charley  had  to 
escort  Mrs.  Wrixon  to  the  dining-room,  to  sit  next 
her,  to  perform  the  duties  of  carving  for  her,  to  sup- 
ply her  with  a  little  of  the  small  change  of  conversa- 
tion. Nobody  could  behave  more  decorously,  more 
unlike  the  lady's  fearful  anticipations  of  the  dreaded 
guest.  Now  and  then,  when  addressed  by  his 
friends,  a  quaint  remark  or  a  satiric  witticism  would 


312  •  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

make  lier  smile,  and  convince  her  that  the  danger- 
ously seductive  companionable  character  of  her  g-uest 
had  not  been  undeservedly  obtained.  On  the  whole, 
she  had  every  reason  to  think  hnn  very  much  of  a 
gentleman,  and  graciously  smiled  on  him  when  she 
quitted  the  table. 

"You  have  conquered  her,  by  Jove,"  exclaimed 
Wrixon.  "Not  yet,"  said  Charley,  "but  in  a  fair 
way  for  it,"  The  wine  went  round.  The  conver- 
sation branched  off  into  its  usual  channels,  and  set- 
tled, at  last,  upon  a  meet  of  the  hounds  which  was 
to  take  place  on  Mr.  Wrixon's  property,  at  which 
all  the  company  present  would  attend. 

In  the  middle  of  the  discussion,  one  of  the  foot- 
men duly  announced  that  his  lady  was  waiting  for 
them,  with  tea  and  coffee,  in  the  drawing-room. 
Heretofore,  in  that  house,  such  an  announcement 
had  always  been  a  mere  matter  of  form.  Not  so 
now.  Charley  Crofts  started  up  and  proceeded  to 
obey  the  summons.  "  Nonsense  I"  they  all  exclaim- 
ed. "Don't  turn  milksop.  No  one  ever  goes  to  tea 
or  coffee  in  this  house."  "  Say  what  you  may,"  said 
Charley,  "  the  lady  shall  not  have  to  complain  of  my 
want  of  politeness." 

In  the  drawing-room,  sooth  to  say,  no  gentleman 
had  been  expected,  and  Mrs.  Wrixon  was  taking  a 
solitary  cup  of  tea.  She  was  an  admirable  musi- 
cian, and  was  playing  "  Gramachree  "  (that  saddest 
of  all  Irish  airs)  just  as  Charley  reached  the  door. 


ClIAKLKY   CHOFTS.  313 

Now,  music  was  among  the  things  which  he  thor- 
oughly un:brstool  and  appreciated,  and  the  mo- 
ment that  he  heard  her  exquisite  execution  on  the 
harp  he  paused,  spell-bound,  listening  with  rapt  at- 
tention and  delight,  while  the  pathos  of  the  air  drew 
tears  from  eyes  all  unaccustomed  to  the  meltiDg 
mood.  When  she  had  concluded,  she  turned  round, 
saw  the  effect  which  she  had  produced,  and  (need  I 
say  it)  was  flattered  at  that  pi'oof  of  her  skill. 

Quickly  recovering  himself,  Charley  Crofls  in- 
formed her  that  he  had  the  pleasure  of  accepting  the 
invitation  she  had  sent  into  the  dining-room.  Tea 
was  accordingly  provided,  and  the  conversation  nat- 
urally fell  upon  music.  Charley  happened  to  be  a 
first  rate  flutist,  and  having  mentioned  in  what  a  de- 
lightful manner  the  flute  and  harp  went  together, 
either  to  accompany  the  voice  or  without,  Mrs. 
Wrixon  sent  for  her  husband's  flute,  and  allowed 
him  to  show  her  how  correctly  he  had  spoken. 
Presently,  she  even  sang  to  the  double  accompani- 
ment, and  her  husband  and  his  friends,  curious  to 
know  how  Crofts  was  getting  on,  having  now  ad- 
journed from  their  wine,  found  him  thus  engaged. 

Meanwhile,  in  intervals  of  from  three  to  five  min- 
utes, Charley  Crofts  had  g-ulphed  down  successive, 
and  almo.^t  countless,  cups  of  tea.  Again  and  again 
had  the  tea-pot  been  replenished — and  emptied.  At 
last,  quite  tired  out,  Mrs.  AVrixon  said,  half  in  sport, 
half  in  earnest,  "  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Crofts,  that  I  never 
U 


S!l4  BITS   OF   I5I.ARXEY. 

gave  you  credit  for  being  such  a  determined  tea- 
drinker.  As  my  hand  is  rather  tired,  may  I  beg 
that  you  will  help  yourself  ?" 

"Madam,"  said  Charley,  with  imposing  gravity, 
"  I  am  a  plain  man.  I  do  not  })refer  tea  to  c.tlier 
liquids.  You  were  so  good  as  to  send  for  ns  to  tea. 
I  always  obey  a  lady's  summons  when  I  can,  and 
came  hither.  I  am  accustomed,  for  years  past,  to 
take  a  certain  quantity  of  fluid  after  dinner.  I  care 
not  what  that  fluid  may  be,  so  that  I  have  my  quan- 
tum.  Ale,  punch,  wine,  or,  as  now,  even  this  tea. 
I  can  help  myself  to  the  other  liquids,  but  tea  has 
no  flavor  unless  it  be  poured  out  by  a  lady's  fair 
hand !" 

Mrs.  Wrixon,  perceiving  that  she  was  fairly 
caught,  exclaimed,  "  Well,  Mr.  Crofts,  I  think  that 
I  must  leave  you  to  take  what  you  please  in  the 
dining-room,  but  whenever  you  want  a  little  music 
you  can  have  it  here,  and  I  only  hope  my  husband 
will  treat  you  so  well  that  you  will  frequently  give 
me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  under  this  roof." 

This  was  the  manner  in  which  Charley  Crofts  con- 
quered Madam  Wrixon,  the  proud,  high-bred  lady. 
Good  friends  they  continued  unto  her  dying  day, 
and  Charley  would  rather  hear  her  play  the  harp, 
as  she  only  could  play  it,  (he  fancied,)  than  assist  at 
the  broaching  of  the  finest  pipe  of  claret  that  ever 
was  smuggled  over  from  Bordeaux. 

Mr.  Wrixon,  albeit  a  man  if  unbounded  generos- 


Charley  ckufts.  815 

ity,  had  one  keLle  drawback.  He  would  give  sump- 
tuous entertainments ;  he  paid  the  chief  expenses 
of  the  Duhallow  Hunt ;  he  indulged  his  wife  m  all 
luxuries  of  attire  and  adornment ;  he  had  a  passion 
for  beautiful  horses  and  costly  equipages ;  he  was 
liberal  in  his  charities ;  he  acted  as  banker  for  many 
of  his  poorer  friends  who  were  of  the  lackland 
genus ;  he  seemed  to  fling  money  away,  though, 
indeed,  he  was  by  no  means  a  spendthrift ;  but  the 
one  little  "blot"  in  his  tables  (I  mean,  in  his  char- 
acter) was  a  feverish  anxiety  to  economize  on  such 
mere  trifles  as  cream  and  butter! 

So  it  was,  however.  His  friends  were  at  once 
amused  and  rendered  uncomfortable  by  it.  It  inter- 
fered with  the  perfection  of  their  tea  and  coffee,  and 
always  prevented  their  taking  a  desired  quantity  of 
bread-and-butter.  To  allude  to  this  matter,  to  show 
the  slightest  consciousness  of  Mr.  Wrixon's  peculiar 
idiosyncrasy,  in  this  respect,  was  what  his  friends 
never  ventured  upon.  They  were  not  the  less  anx- 
ious to  have  it  removed. 

They  determined  that  Charley  Crofts  should  be 
the  amputator.  The  next  day,  at  a  very  early 
breakfast,  preparatory  to  their  taking  the  field  with 
the  fox-hounds,  a  lively  party  assembled  at  Mr, 
Wrixon's  table,  in  unexceptionable  red  coats,  envi- 
able buckskins,  irreproachable  top-boots,  and  the 
ordinary  skull-caps  covered  with  black  velvet,  which, 
from  time  immemorial,  formed  the  costume  of  the 


Si6  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

members  of  the  Duhallow  Hunt ;  "  the  most  sport- 
ingest  set  of  gentlemen,"  I  once  heard  a  peasant  say 
-  that  mortial  eyes  did  ever  look  upon." 

The  breakfast  included  all  that  should  constitute  the 
matutinal  meal  of  a  party  of  keen  sportsmen  about 
to  cross  the  country  at  break-neck  speed — all,  except 
cream  and  butter,  of  which,  as  usual,  there  was  a 
minimum  supply,  very  much  short  of  what  might 
be  expected  from  a  dairy  of  over  twenty  milch  cows. 
Charley  Crofts,  as  this  was  his  first  visit,  might  be 
supposed  to  be  in  ignorance  of  his  host's  feelings 
upon  that  point.  At  all  events,  he  acted  as  if  he 
were. 

The  cream  and  butter  were  placed  close  by  Mr. 
Wrixon — the  supply  for  a  party  of  nine  or  ten  con- 
sisting of  a  very  small  ewer-full  of  the  former,  and 
two  or  three  pals  of  the  latter,  each  about  the  size 
of  a  penny -piece.  As  if  it  were  a  matter  of  course, 
Charley,  having  put  the  needful  quantities  of  tea 
into  his  cup,  filled  it  up  with  the  entire  contents  of 
the  cream-ewer,  and,  at  the  same  time,  put  all  the' 
butter  upon  his  plate.  Mr.  Wrixon,  startled  by 
such  invasion  of  his  favourites,  feebly  desired  one  of 
the  servants  to  bring  "  a  Ulile  more  cream  and  a 
little  more  butter." 

By  the  time  the  fresh  supply  was  on  the  table, 
Charley  Crofts  had  emptied  his  cup  ajnd  eaten 
his  toast.  He  lost  no  time  in  appropriating  the 
prized  articles,  as  before,  chatting  away  with  his 


CHARLEY   CROFrS.  317 

usual  nonchalance^  as  if  he  had  done  nothing  un- 
oommon.  Mr,  AYrixon,  sitting  like  one  astonied, 
watched  the  disappearance  of  the  second  supply, 
and  ordered  a  third  replenishment,  which  went  the 
way  of  the  preceding.  Rising  in  his  chair,  he  ad- 
dressed the  butler  and  exclaimed,  "John,  desire  that 
all  the  cream  and  butter  in  the  dairy  be  brought  up, 
I  think  we  shall  have  need  of  the  Avhole  of  it." 
Turning  to  Crofts,  he  emphatically  said,  "I  have 
heard  of  eating  bread-and-butter,  but  Charley,  you 
eat  butter  and  h ready  By  this  time  the  laugh  which 
arose  gave  him  the  pleasant  information  that  he  was 
sold.  From  that  hour  he  was  as  liberal  with  his  cream 
and  butter,  as  he  previously  had  been  with  every 
other  article  in  his  mansion.  He  never  was  able  to 
ascertain  whether  Charley  Crofts  had  been  put  up 
to  the  trick,  or  had  simply  hit  the  nail  by  accident. 
Charley  Crofts  did  not  confine  his  visits  to  the 
gentry  in  his  native  county  of  Cork.  In  the  decline 
of  his  fortunes — indeed,  as  long  as  he  was  able  to  do 
anything — he  always  was  possessor  of  a  gem  or  two 
in  the  way  of  horseflesli.  For  many  years,  his  in- 
come was  almost  wholly  derived  from  the  sale  of 
horses,  out  of  which  he  obtained  a  large  profit,  and 
it  was  known  that  any  animal  which  he  sold  or 
vouched  for  might  be  depended  on.  In  the  way  of 
business,  having  disposed  of  a  fine  hunter  to  one  of 
the  family,  who  was  sportingly  inclined,  he  had  to 
pass  a  few  days  at  th  i  house  of  Mr.  Lyons,  of  Croom, 


318  BITS   OF   BLARNKY. 

in  tlie  county  of  Limerick.  This  old  man  Lad  ac- 
quired a  vast  fortune  by  following  the  business  of  a 
grazier,  and  had  invested  large  sums  in  the  pur- 
chase of  landed  estates.  His  sons,  determined  to 
cut  a  figure  in  the  county,  indulged  in  all  manner 
of  excess  and  extravagance.  At  the  time  of  Charley 
Crofts'  visit,  they  issued  cards  for  a  splendid  dejeuner 
d  la  fourcJiette,  to  which  the  leading  people  of  the 
district  w^ere  invited.  As  Charley  Crofts  was  on 
intimate  terms  with  everybody  who  had  pretensions 
to  notice,  the  Lyons  family,  in  solemn  conclave  as- 
sembled, determined  tliat  it  would  be  a  sagacious 
and  politic  move  to  get  him  to  officiate  as  a  some- 
thing between  Major  Domo  and  Master  of  the  Cere- 
monies at  the  intended,  festival.  Desiring  no  better 
fun,  he  cheerfully  consented. 

The  attendance  on  the  gala  day  was  what  the 
newspapers  would  describe  as  "  full  and  fashionable." 
Many  went  from  curiosity,  to  see  in  what  manner 
the  parvenu  would  attempt  "to  ape  his  betters" — 
I.  e.,  themselves.  Several  attended,  because  they 
owed  money  to  old  Lyons  (who  did  a  little  in  bills 
after  abandoning  l>e^/)^  and  did  not  like  to  aifront 
him  by  not  accepting  his  invitation.  A  good  many 
went,  because  they  had  heard  that  "  all  the  world 
and  his  wife"  would  be  present,  and  a  jovial  day 
might  be  anticipated.' 

Thanks  to  Charley  Crofts'  surveillance,  the  enter- 
tainment, well  got  up,  went  off  admirably. 


CHARLEY   CROFTS.  319 

Among  the  more  aristocratic  guests  was  the  Ladj 
Isabella  Fitzgibbon,  sister  to  that  Earl  of  Clare  who 
was  the  schoolfellow  and  friend  most  tenderly  and 
lastingly  loved  by  Byron.  At  that  time  she  was  a 
fine  young  woman.  She  is  now  a  stern  old  maid — • 
like  the  odd  half  of  a  pair  of  scissors,  of  no  use  to 
licrsL'lf  or  any  body  else.  Lady  Isabella  affected  to 
look  down,  with  some  degree  of  superciliousness, 
upon  the  millionaire's  hospitality.  Having  probably 
laid  in  a  good  supply  of  mutton  chops  or  beefsteaks 
before  she  went  out,  she  pointedly  neglected  the 
delicacies  of  the  season,  which  were  abundantly 
supplied,  and  merely  trifled  with  a  lobster-salad. 
Oil  Lyons,  who  hal  a  graat  respect  for  good  feed- 
ing, and  particularly  for  substantials,  turned  round 
to  her,  as  she  sat  by  his  side,  tha  image  of  aristocrat- 
ical  don't-care-a-pin-for-all-the-world-ativeness,  and 
kindly  said,  "  Ah,  then,  my  lady,  why  don't  you 
take  some  of  the  good  beef  and  mutton,  the  capons 
and  the  turkeys,  and  don't  be  after  filling  your 
stomach  with  that  cowld  cabbage!" 

The  high-born  daina  neariy  fainted  at  what  she 
considered  the  vulgar  good-nature  of  her  host.  Soon 
after,  when  she  had  recovered  from  the  shock,  she  said 
that  oAQ  thought  she  would  have  a  little  bread  and 
butter.  Immediately  opposite  her,  and  within  reach 
of  Old  Lyons,  was  a  crystal  bowl  in  which  floated 
sundry  little  pats  of  that  delicious  butter  for  which 
the  county  Limerick  is  famed.  Lyons  made  several 


320  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

vain  efforts  to  spear  one  of  these  witli  a  fork,  at 
last,  finding  that  it  was  impossible  to  make  the 
capture  in  that  manner,  he  raised  up  his  coat-sleeve, 
tucked  up  the  Avrist-band  of  his  sliirt,  and  j)lung- 
ing  his  hand  into  the  bowl,  with  the  exclamation, 
'  Ha,  you  little  jumping  Jennies,  I  am  determined 
to  have  you  now,"  secured  two  pieces  of  the  butter, 
which  he  triumphantly  deposited  on  his  noble  guest's 
plate,  with  the  words,  "There,  my  lady,  when  I 
took  the  matter  in  hand^  I  knew  I  must  succeed." 

Charley  Crofts  departed  this  life  some  twenty 
years  ago.  The  close  of  his  career  was  passed  in 
Cove,  where  he  lived  upon  an  annuity  provided  by 
the  liberality  of  some  of  his  former  friends.  His 
health  had  failed  him,  suddenly,  a  few  years  before, 
and  he  who  had  been  wont  "  to  set  the  table  in  a 
roar,"  for  nearly  forty  years,  subsided  into  a  quer- 
ulous valetudinarian.  He  published  his  Autobiog- 
raphy, shortly  before  his  death,  and  it  deserves 
mention  as  one  of  the  dullest  of  its  class,  as  far  as  I 
recollect,  (it  is  a  long  time  since  I  yawned  over  it,) 
the  subject  matter  chiefly  consisted  of  fierce  person- 
alities directed  against  sundry  relatives  who,  he 
said,  had  cheated  him  out  of  his  property. 

To  the  very  last,  Charley  Crofts  could  give 
graphic  narratives  of  his  former  career  and  com- 
panions, but  the  moment  he  attempted  to  write  them 
down,  their  spirit  AvhoUy  evaporated, 


3RTSH    PUBLICISTS 


HENEY  GRATTAN. 

The  history  of  Ireland's  independence,  from  the 
rise  of  the  Volunteers  until  the  treacherous  sacrifice 
of  nationality  by  the  passing  of  the  Act  of  Union — 
an  interval  of  twenty  years,  yet  crowded  with  events 
and  eminent  characters — can  best  be  read  in  the 
lives  of  the  illustrious  men  who  asserted,  vindicated, 
and  carried  that  independence.  Looking  bad?  at 
the  brief  but  brilliant  period  in  which  they  shone, 
truly  did  Curran  speak  of  them,  to  Lord  Avonmore, 
as  men  "  over  whose  ashes  the  most  precious  tears 
of  Ireland  have-been  shed." 

Among  this  noble  and  gallant  array  of  public 
virtue  and  genius  Henky  Grattan  stands  con- 
spicuous and  pre-eminent.  To  condense  a  memoir 
of  him  into  the  space  which  I  have  here  reserved 
would  be  a  vain  attempt.  Let  me  sketch  him  in 
his  youth.  The  child,  Wordsworth  said,  is  father 
of  the  man,  and  this  was  particularly  true  as  regards 
Grattan. 

Henry  Grattan,  stated  by  most  of  his  biographers 
to  have  been  born  in  1750  (the  year  in  which  Cui- 
ran  entered  into  earthly  existence),  was  four  years 
older,  his  baptismal  f^:'gister  in  Dublin  bearing  date 
th3  3d  of  July,  1746.     His  father,  a  man  of  charactei* 

(828) 


S24  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

and  ability,  was  Eecorder  of  Dublin  for  many  years, 
and  one  of  the  metropolitan  parliamentary  repre- 
sentatives from  1761  to  bis  deatb  in  1766.  The 
well-known  patriot.  Dr.  Lucas,  was  senatorial  col- 
league and  opponent  of  the  elder  Grattan,  who,  al- 
though nominally  a  Wliig,  was  actually  a  Tory, — 
was  the  law  officer  of  the  Corporation,  which 
Lucas  undauntedly  opposed, — and  on  all  essen- 
tial, political,  and  legislative  points,  sided  with  the 
Government  of  the  day. 

The  Grattan  family  were  of  considerable  and  re- 
spectable standing  in  teland,  and  Heniy  Grattan's 
grandfather  and  grand-uncles  had  enjoyed  familiar 
intimacy  with  Dean  Swift  and  Dr.  Sheridan.  Hen- 
ry Grattan's  mother  was  a  daughter  of  Thomas 
Marlay,  Chief  Justice  of  Ireland,  who  almost  as 
a  matter  of  course  in  those  days,  was  to  be  found 
on  the  side  of  the  Government,  but  administered 
justice  fairly,  and  on  some  few  occasions  showed  a 
love  for  and  pride  in  his  native  Ireland.  Grattan's 
mother  was  a  clear-headed,  well-informed  woman. 
On  both  sides,  therefore,  he  had  a  claim  to  hereditary 
talent. 

At  ordinary  day-schools,  in  Dublin,  Henry  Grat- 
tan received  his  education.  John  Fitzgibbon,  after- 
wards the  unscrupulous  tool  of  the  Government  and 
the  scourge  of  Ireland  (as  Lord  Chancellor  Clare), 
was  his  class-mate  at  one  of  these  seminaries.  Grat- 
tan rapidly  acquired  the  necessary  amount  of  Greek 


ilENRY   GKATTAN.  825 

and  Latin,  and  in  1763,  being  then  17  years  old, 
entered  Trinity  College.  Here,  among  his  friends 
and  competitors,  were  Foster  (afterwards  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Commons),  Robert  Day,  Avho  sub- 
sequently adorned  the  Bench.  In  the  University 
there  was  particular  rivalry  between  Fitzgibbon  and 
G rattan;  the  first  was  well  grounded  in  classics  and 
science,  but  almost  wholly  ignorant  of  modern  liter- 
ature. Both  obtained  the  highest  prizes  in  the 
University, — Grattan  getting  premium,  certificate, 
or  medal  at  every  examination, 

Before  he  had  completed  his  twentieth  year,  Grat- 
tan had  declared  his  political  opinions.  They  were 
patriotic — they  were  Irish — they  were  opposed  to 
the  principles  and  practice  of  his  father,  and  strongly 
identical  with  those  of  Dr.  Lucas,  his  father's  con- 
stant and  bitter  opponent.  Lucas  was  a  remarkable 
man.  He  it  was  who,  immediately  after  the  acces- 
sion of  George  III.,  introduced  a  bill  for  limiting  the 
duration  of  the  Irish  Parliament  to  seven  years — 
the  custom  being,  at  the  time,  that  a  new  Parliament 
sliould  be  chosen  when  a  new  monarch  ascended 
the  throne,  and  last  during  his  lifetime.  It  took 
seven  years'  perseverance  to  effect  this  change — 
upon  which  the  English  Cabinet  thrice  put  a  veto. 
A  fourth  and  final  effort  succeeded,  the  limitation 
being  eight  years.  It  was  Lucas  who,  following 
in  the  steps  of  Swift,  boldly  attacked  bad  men 
and  bad  measures  in  the  newspapers,  and  thus  as- 


326  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

• 

serted  the  Liberty  of  tlie  Press — ^that  wliich  Cur- 
ran  so  earnestly  desired  to  be  preserved  when,  ad- 
dressing his  countrymen,  he  said,  "  Guard  it,  I  be- 
seech }oy\,  for  when  it  sinks,  there  sink  with  it,  in 
one  common  grave,  the  liberty  of  the  subject  and 
the  security  of  the  Crown."  It  was  Lucas  who 
strenuously  denied  the  right  of  a  British  Parliament 
to  govern  Ireland,  who  asserted  his  country's  right 
to  legislative  independence,  who  insisted  on  her 
^laim  for  self-government.  For  this,  the  law  was 
straine  1  against  him, 7— for  this,  Dublin  grand  juries 
ordered  his  writings  to  be  publicly  burned  by  the 
hands  of  the  common  hangman — for  this,  a  venid 
House  of  Commons  voted  that  he  wrote  sedition  and 
was  an  enemy  of  his  country — ^for  this,  the  Speaker 
was  ordered  to  issue  a  warrant  for  his  arrest  and 
imprisonment  in  gaol — for  this,  the  Lord  Lieutenant 
was  solicited  to  denounce  him  by  Proclamation — 
for  this,  the  Corporation  of  Dublin  disfranchised  him 
— ^for  this,  he  had  to  fly  his  country  and  secure  life 
and  comparative  liberty  by  eleven  years  of  enforced 
exile.  On  his  return,  in  1760,  that  very  city  of 
Dublin  from  which  he  had  fled  for  his  life  elected 
him  for  one  of  its  representatives,  Grattan's  father 
being  his  colleague.  As  such,  the  elder  Grattan, 
who  was  a  courtier,  opposed  the  Septennial  Bill, 

Henry  Grattan,  a  patriot  from  his  childhood,  ar- 
dently adopted  Dr.  Lucas'  views  in  favour  of  Ire- 
land's independence.   The  result  was  that,  in  1765-6, 


HENRY  GRATTAN.  827 

Henry  Grattan  was  at  variance  with  his  father.  The 
death  of  the  ekler  Grattan  took  place  in  1766,  and 
it  was  then  discovered  how  much  he  resented  his 
son's  assertion  of  liberal  politics.  He  could  not  de- 
prive him  of  a  small  landed  estate,  secured  to  him 
by  marriage  settlement,  but  bequeathed  from  him 
the  paternal  residence  of  the  family  for  nearly  a 
century.  Thus  Henry  Grattan  had  to  enter  the 
world,  not  rich  in  worldly  wealth,  and  with  his  soul 
saddened  by  the  marked  and  public  posthumous 
condemnation  by  his  father.  No  wonder  that,  as  he 
declared  in  one  of  his  letters  at  the  time,  he  was 
"  melancholy  and  contemplative,  but  not  studious." 
No  wonder  that,  solitary  in  the  old  home,  he  should 
sadly  say,  "I  employ  myself  writing,  reading, 
courting  the  muse,  and  taking  leave  of  that  place 
where  I  am  a  guest^  not  an  owner,  and  of  which  I 
shall  now  cease  to  be  a  spectator^''  His  household 
Gods  were  shattered  on  his  hearth,  and  he  sat,  cold 
and  lonely,  among  their  ruins.  Yet,  even  then,  he 
dreamed  that  fortune,  smiling  upon  him,  would  en- 
able his  old  age  to  resign  his  breath  where  he  first 
received  it.  Never  was  that  dream  fulfilled.  Not 
even  did  he  die 

"  'Midst  the  trees  which  a  nation  had  given,  and  which  bowed, 
As  if  each  brought  a  new  civic  crown  for  his  head  ;" 

but  his  spirit  departed,  fifty-four  years  later,  in  the 


828  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

metropolis  of  tlie  haughty  land  which  had  crushed 
the  independence  and  broken  the  nationality  of 

"  His  own  loved  island  of  sorrow." 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  Henry  Grattan  went  to 
London  to  study  the  law.  At  that  period,  as  at 
present,  it  is  indispensable  for  every  one  who  desires 
to  be  admitted  to  the  Irish  bar,  that  he  shall  have 
"  studied  "  for  two  years  at  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court 
in  London.  Perhaps  this,  as  much  as  anything  else, 
shows  how  completely  the  English  habit  has  been, 
and  is,  to  treat  Ireland  as  a  mere  province.  Candi- 
dates for  admission  to  the  Scottish  bar  are  not  re- 
quired to  pursue  this  nominal  course  of  studjr  in 
another  country.  Nominal  it  is,  for  the  re]^uireinent 
does  not  involve  the  acquisition,  m  the  most  infinites- 
imal degree,  of  any  knowledge  of  the  principles  or 
practice  of  the  law.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  the 
future  barrister  shall  have  eaten  twenty -four  dinners 
in  the  Hall  of  his  London  Inn  of  Court  (three  at 
each  term)  during  two  years,  and  a  certificate  of  this 
knife-and-fork  practice — which  is  facetiously  called 
"  keeping  his  Terms  " — is  received  by  the  Benchers 
of  the  Queen's  Inn  in  Dublin,  as  ^jroof  that  the  can- 
didate has  duly  qualified  himself  by  study !  There 
is  no  examination  as  to  his  knowledge  of  law — two 
years  in  London,  and  a  somewhat  lesser  amount  of 
legal  feeding  in  Dublin,  being  the  sole  qualification 
for  the  Irish  Bar! 


•   liENRY   GRATTAN,  329 

In  ^[ichaelmas  Term,  1767,  being  two  months 
past  his  majority,  Henry  Grattan  entered  his  name, 
as  student,  or  the  books  of  the  Middle  Temple  in 
London,  Although  he  intended  to  live  by  the  prac- 
tice of  the  law,  he  devoted  little  attention  to  its  study. 
Black-letter,  precedents,  and  technicalities  he  cared 
little  for.  The  broad  principles  of  jurisprudence 
attracted  his  attention ;  but  he  mastered  them,  not  as 
an  advocate,  but  as  a  future  law-maker.  In  fact, 
nature  had  intended  him  for  a  politician  and  states- 
man, and  his  mind,  from  the  first,  followed  the  bias 
which  "  the  mighty  mother  "  gave.  As  late  as  Au- 
gust, 1771,  when  he  had  been  four  years  in  the  Tem- 
ple, he  wrote  thus  to  a  fiiend  :  "  I  am  now  becoming 
a  lawyer,  fond  of  cases,  frivolous,  and  illiberal ;  in- 
stead of  Pope's  and  Milton's  numbers,  I  repeat  in 
solitude  Coke's  instructions,  the  nature  of  fee-tail, 
and  the  various  constructions  of  jDcrplexing  statutes. 
This  duty  has  been  taken  up  too  late ;  not  time 
enough  to  make  me  a  lawyer,  but  sufiiciently  early 
to  make  me  a  dunce,"  In  the  same  letter  he  said, 
"  Your  life,  like  mine,  is  devote  I  to  professions  which 
we  both  detest ;  the  vulgar  honours  of  the  law  are  as 
terrible  to  me  as  the  restless  uniformity  of  the  mili- 
tary is  to  you." 

During  the  four  years  of  his  English  residence, 
variel  by  occasional  visits  to  Ireland,  Mr,  Grattan's 
heart  certainly  never  warmed  to  the  profession  which 
he  had  chosen.      The  confession  which  I  have  just 


330  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

quoted  was  made  only  a  few  montlis  before  he  was 
called  to  the  Irish  bar  in  Hilary  Term,  1772.  Yet 
he  was  a  hard  reader,  a  close  student,  an*  early  riser, 
and  a  moderate  liver.  To  aiford  the  means  of  en- 
larging his  library,  he  avoided  expensive  amuse- 
ments and  practiced  a  very  close  economy.  In  No- 
vember, 1768,  these  saving  habits  became  matter  of 
necessity  rather  than  of  choice,  when  his  mother 
died  so  suddenly  that  she  had  not  time  to  make,  as 
she  had  purposed,  a  formal  disposition  of  her  rever- 
sion to  a  landed  property  which  she  had  meant  to 
leave  her  son.  It  passed,  therefore,  to  another  branch 
of  the  family,  leaving  Grattan  such  limited  resources 
that  it  now  was  necessary  for  him  to  follow  a  profes- 
sion. 

How,  then,  did  Grattan  employ  his  time  in  Eng- 
land ?  We  have  his  own  regretful  confession,  that 
it  was  not,  for  the  first  four  years,  in  the  study  of 
the  law.  Shortly  after  his  first  visit  to  London,  he 
lost  one  of  his  sisters ;  and  deep  sorrow  for  her 
death,  and  a  distaste  for  society,' drove  him  from  the 
bustle  of  the  metropolis  to  the  retirement  of  the 
country.  He  withdrew  to  Sunning  Hill,  near  Wind- 
sor Forest,  amid  whose  mighty  oaks  he  loved  to  wan- 
der, meditating  upon  the  political  questions  of  the 
day,  and  making  speeches  as  if  he  already  were  in 
parliament,  Mrs.  Sawyer,  his  landlady,  a  simple- 
minded  woman,  knew  not  what  to  make  of  the  odd- 
looking,  strange-mannered  young  man,  and  hesitated 


HEXRY   GRATTAN.  331 

between  the  doubt  whetlier  he  was  insane  or  merely 
eccentric.  When  one  of  his  friends  came  to  see  him, 
she  complained  that  her  lodger  used  to  walk  up  and 
down  in  her  garden  throughout  the  summer  nights, 
speaking  to  himself,  and  addressing  an  imaginary 
"  Mr.  Speaker,"  with  the  earnestness  of  an  inspired 
orator.  She  was  afraid  that  his  derangement  might 
take  a  dangerous  character,  and,  in  her  apprehen- 
sion, offered  to  forgive  the  rent  which  was  due,  if 
his  friends  would  only  remove  her  eccentric  lodger. 
Seventy  years  after  this  (in  1838)  Judge  Day,  who 
lived  to  almost  a  patriarchal  age,  and  had  been  inti- 
mate with  Grattan  in  London,  wrote  a  letter,  in 
which,  describing  him  at  college,  "  where  he  soon 
distinguished  himself  by  a  brilliant  elocution,  a  te- 
nacious memory,  and  abundance  of  classical  acquire- 
ments," he  proceeds  to  state  that  Grattan  "always 
took  great  delight  in  frequenting  the  galleries,  first 
of  the  Irish,  and  then  of  the  English  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  the  bars  of  the  Lords."  His  biographer 
records  that  this  amateur  Parliamentary  attendance 
had  greater  attractions  for  him  than  the  pleasures 
of  the  metropolis,  and  that  he  devoted  his  evenings 
in  listening,  his  nights  in  recollecting,  and  his  days 
in  copying  the  great  orators  of  the  time.  Judge  Day 
also  has  remembered  that  Grattan  would  spend 
whole  moonlight  nights  in  rambling  and  losing  him- 
self in  the  thickest  plantations  of  Windsor  Forest, 
and  "  would  sometimes  pause  and  address  a  tree  in 


332  BITS   or   BLARNEY. 

soliloquy,  tlius  preparing  liimself  earlv  f(.r  that  as- 
sembly wliicli  he  was  destined  in  later  life  to  adorn." 

Such  was  Grattan's  self-training.  So  did  he  pre- 
pare himself  for  that  career  of  brilliant  utility  and 
])atriotism  which  has  made  his  name  immortal. 

Events  of  great  moment  took  place  in  England 
during  Grattan's  sojourn  there.  The  contest  between 
John  Wilkes  and  the  Government  was  then  in  full 
course,  leading  to  important  results,  and  encourag- 
ing, if  it  did  not  create,  the  publication  of  the  fear- 
less and  able  letters  of  Junius.  At  that  time,  great 
men  were  in  the  British  Senate,  and  Grattan  had  the 
good  fortune  to  hear  their  eloquence,  to  watch  the 
deeds  in  which  they  participated.  The  elder  Pitt, 
who  had  then  withdrawn  from  the  Commons,  and 
exercised  great  power  in  the  Upper  House,  as  Earl  of 
Chath;im,  still  took  part  in  public  business.  There, 
t(x),  was  Lord  North — shrewd,  obese,  good-temper- 
ed, and  familiar.  There  was  Charles  James  Foxj 
just  commencing  public  life,  alternately  coquetting 
with  politics  and  the  faro-table — his  great  rival,  I^itt, 
had  not  then  arisen,  nor  his  eminent  friend  Sheridan, 
but  Edmund  Burke  had  already  made  his  mark, 
Barr^  was  in  full  force,  as  well  as  Grenville,  and  the 
great  lawyers  Loughborough  and  Thurlow  had 
already  appeared  above  the  horizon,  while  Lords 
Camden  and  Mansheld  were  in  the  maturity  of  fame. 
Then,  also,  flourished  Charles  Townshend,  who 
would  have  deserved  the  name  of  a  "Tcat  statesman 


HEXRY   GRATTAN".  333 

but  for  his  mistake  in  trying  to  obtain  revenue  for 
England  by  taxation  .  of  America.  There  was  the 
remarkable  man  called  "  Singlespeech"  Hamilton, 
from  one  brilliant  oration  which  was  declared  by 
Walpole  to  have  eclipsed  the  most  successful  efforts 
even  of  the  elder  Pitt.  In  the  Irish  Parliament,  too, 
which  he  always  visited  w^hen  in  Dublin  during  the 
Session,  were  men  of  great  eminence  and  ability, 
with  some  of  whom — Flood,  Hutchinson,  and  Hus- 
sey  Burgh — not  long  after,  Grattan  was  himself  to 
come  into  intellectual  gladiatorship.  In  both  coun- 
tries, therefore,  he  became  familiar  with  politics  and 
politicians.  What  marvel  if  he  deviated  from  the 
technicalities  of  the  law  into  the-  wider  field  of  law- 
making and  statesmanship  ? 

How  closely  he  observed  the  eminent  persons  who 
thus  came  before  his  notice,  may  be  judged  from  the 
character  of  Lord  Chatham,  which  was  introduced 
in  a  note  to  "Barataria,"  (a  satirical  brochure  by  Sir 
Hercules  Langrishe),  as  if  from  a  new  edition  of 
Eobertson's  History  of  America.  Many  persons,  at 
the  time,  who  looked  for  it  in  Robertson,  Avere  dis- 
appointed at  not  finding  it  there.  Apropos  of  Lan- 
grishe ;  it  may  be  added  that  he  it  was  who  said — 
that  the  best  History  of  Ireland  was  to  be  found  "  in 
the  continuation  of  Raping''  and  excused  the  swampy 
state  of  the  Phoenix  Park  demesne  by  supposing 
that  the  Government  neglected  it,  being  so  much 
occupied  in  draining  the  rest  of  tlie  kingdom. 


834  BITS  OF   BLARNEY. 

Greatly  admiring  the  nervous  eloquence  of  Lord 
Chatham,  it  is  evident  that  Grattan's  own  style  was 
influenced,  if  not  formed  by  it.  He  could  not  have 
had  a  better  model.  Grattan,  out  of  pure  admira- 
tion of  the  man,  reported  several  of  his  speeches  for 
his  own  subsequent  use.  "Writing  about  him  many 
years  later,  he  said,  "  He  was  a  man  of  great  genius 
— great  flight  of  mind.  His  imagination  was  aston- 
ishing. He  was  very  great,  and  very  odd.*  He 
never  came  with  a  prepared  harangue;  his  style  was 
not  regular  oratory,  like  Cicero  or  Demosthenes,  but 
it  was  very  fine,  and  very  elevated,  and  above  the 
ordinary  subjects  of  discourse.  He  appeared  more 
like  a  pure  character  advising,  than  mixing  in  the 
debate.  It  was  something  superior  to  that^ — it  was 
teaching  the  lordsj  and  lecturing  the  King.  Pie  ap- 
peared the  next  greatest  thing  to  the  King,  though 
infinitely  sup  -rior.  What  Cicero  says  in  his  '  Cla- 
ris Oratoribus'  exactly  applies:  '■  Formce  dig- 
niias,  corporis  motus  plenus  et  arlis  et  venustatis,  vocis 
etsuavitasetmagnitudoJ  'Great  subjects,  great  em- 
pires, great  characters,  effulgent  ideas,  and  classical 
illustrations  formed  the  material  of  his  s|)eeches."f 

*  This  refers  more  particularly  to  the  year  1770. 

t  Grattan  used  to  say  that  nothing  ever  was  finer,  in  delivery 
and  effect,  than  Chatham's  appeal,  on  the  American  question, 
♦o  the  bishops,  the  judges,  and  the  peers : — "  You  talk  of  driving 
the  Americans:  I  might  as  veil  ta'k  of  driving  them  before  me 
with  this  crutch." 


HENRY   GRATTAN.  335 

Until  he  permanently  and  finally  took  up  his  res- 
idence in  Dublin,  Grattan  was  greatly  prejudiced  in 
favour  of  England.  In  August,  1771,  he  wrote  to  a 
friend  that  he  would  return  to  Ireland  that  Christ- 
mas, " to  live  or  die  with  you,"  and  added,  "It  is 
painful  to  renounce  England,  and  my  departure  is 
to  me  the  loss  of  youth.  I  submit  to  it  on  the  same 
principle,  and  am  resigned."  At  that  time  he  was 
twenty-five  years  old. 

In  his  letters  to  his  friends  at  this  time,  he  com- 
mented on  Irish  politics  so  forcibly  as  to  show  that 
he  was  a  close  observer.  Alluding  to  the  means 
used  by  the  Viceroy  (Lord  Townshend)  to  corrupt 
the  legislature,  he  said,  "  So  total  an  overthrow  has 
Freedom  received,  that  its  voice  is  heard  only  in 
the  accents  of  despair."  This  sentence  very  proba- 
bly sugggested  the  concludijig  part  of  Moore's  beau- 
tiful lyric,  "  The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's 
haUs," 

"  Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 
The  only  throb  she  gives, 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks. 
To  show  that  still  she  lives." 

Early  in  1772,  Grattan  was  called  to  the  Irish 
bar — not  from  any  predilection  for  the  profession, 
but  from  the  necessity  of  eking  out  his  limited 
means  by  the  exercise  of  his  talents.  It  is  recorded 
that  having  gone  the  circuit,  and  failed  to  gam  a 


336  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

verdict  in  an  important  case  where  he  was  specially 
retained,  he  actually  returned  to  his  client  half  the 
amount  of  his  fae — ^fifty  guineas.  A  man  who  could 
act  thus,  was  clearly  not  fitted  for  the  profession, 
nor  destined  to  arrive  at  wealth  by  its  means. 

At  that  time  the  rising  talent  of  Ireland  was  de- 
cidedly liberal,  and  in  favor  of  progress.  Grattan 
was  thrown  into  familiar  intimacy  with  this  society, 
and  his  own  opinions  were  influenced,  if  not  deter- 
mined, by  the  Catholic  spirit  of  their  avowed  prin- 
ciples. Lord  Charlemont,  Hussey  Burgh,  Robert 
Day,  (afterwards  the  Judg  i,)  Dennis  Daly,  and  Barry 
Yelverton — men  whoso  names  are  familiar  to  all 
who  have  read  the  history  of  Ireland's  later  years  of 
nationality — were  his  familiar  friends. 

Grattan  wished  for  the  lettered  ease  of  literary  re- 
tirement, but  his  narrow  means  did  not  permit  him 
to  live  without  labour.  He  said,  "  What  can  a  mind 
do  without  the  exercise  of  business,  or  the  relaxation 
of  pleasure?"  lie  took  to  politics  as  a  relief  from 
the  demon  of  ennui.  He  attended  the  debates  in 
Parliament.  He  said  "  they  were  insipid ;  every 
one  was  speaking ;  nobody  was  eloquent."  He  had 
become  a  lawyer,  as  he  sadly  confessed,  "  without 
knowledge  or  ambition  in  his  profession,"  He  would 
fain  have  gone  into  retirement,  but  complained  that, 
in  his  too  hospitable  country,  "  wherever  you  fly, 
wherever  you  secrete  yourself,  the  sociable  disposi- 
tion of  the  Irish  will  follow  you.  and  in  every  bar- 


HEJiRY   GRATTAN.  837 

ren  spot  of  that  kingdom  you  must  submit  to  a  state 
of  dissipation  or  hostility."  He  said  that  his  passion 
was  retreat,  for  "  there  is  certainly  repose,  and  may 
be  a  defence,  in  insignificance." 

He  was  destined  for  better  things.  He  had  mar 
ried  Henrietta  Fitzgerald,  who  claimed  descent  from 
the  Desmond  family,  (actually  from  that  branch  of 
which  that  Countess  of  Desmond,  who  died  at  the 
age  of  162,  was  the  foundress,)  but  had,  as  her  own 
dowry,  the  far  greater  wealth  of  youth,  beauty,  vir- 
tue, talent,  and  devoted  affection.  The  union  was 
eminently  happy.  Mrs.  Grattan  became  the  mother 
of  thirteen  children,  and  it  is  known  that  on  many 
occasions,  but  especially  in  the  troublous  times  of 
1798  and  1800,  (the  rebellion  and  the  betrayal  of 
Ireland  by  her  parliament,)  Grattan  frequently  con- 
sulted and  acted  on  the  advice  of  his  wife,  which  in- 
variably was  to  do  what  was  right,  regardless  of  per- 
sonal consequences.  After  his  marriage,  he  went  to 
reside  in  the  county  Wicklow,  where,  almost  from 
early  youth,  he  had  been  enamoured  of  the  beautiful 
scenery,  and  even  then  spoke  of  Tinnahinch,  which  he 
subsequently  purchased,  as  a  place  which  might  be 
"  the  recreation  of  an  active  life,  or  the  retreat  of  an 
obscure  one,  or  the  romantic  residence  of  philosophi- 
cal friendship."  "  Here,"  said  his  son,  "  he  mused 
in  when  melancholy,  he  rejoiced  in  when  gay ;  here 
he  often  trod,  meditating  on  his  country's  wrongs — 
her  long,  dreary  night  of  oppression  ;  and  here  he  first 
15 


338  I  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

beheld  the  bright  transient  light  of  her  redemption 
and  her  glory."  Here,  too,  in  the  moments  of  grief 
he  wept  over  her  divisions  and  her  downfall.  The 
place  continues  a  family  possession,  and,  identified 
a:^  it  is  with  the  name  of  Grattan,  should  never  be 
allowed  to  pass  into  the  possession  of  any  others. 

Grattan's  wife,  highly  gifted  by  nature,  and  with 
her  mind  cultivated  and  enlarged  by  education,  ur- 
gently pressed  him  to  embark  in  political  life.  She 
knew,  even  better  than  himself,  what  his  mental  re- 
sources were,  how  patriotic  were  his  impulses,  how 
great  his  integrity,  how  undaunted  his  courage. 
She  interested  his  friends  in  his  behalf,  and,  at  last, 
on  the  death  of  Mr.  Caulfield  (Lord  Charlemont's 
brother),  Grattan  was  returned  to  Parlianient  for  the 
borough  of  Charlemont,  and  on  the  11th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1775,  in  his  thirtieth  year,  Henry  Grattan  took 
his  seat  as  member  for  Charlemont.  On  the  fourth 
day  after  he  made  a  speech  —  a  spontaneous,  un- 
studied, and  eloquent  reply  —  and  it  was  at  once 
seen  and  admitted  that  his  proper  place  was  in  Par- 
liament. From  that  day  the  life  of  Grattan  can  be 
read  in  the  history  of  Ireland. 

What  he  did  may  be  briefly  summed  up.  He 
established  the  Independence  of  Ireland,  by  procur- 
ing the  repeal  of  the  statute  by  which  it  had  been 
declared  that  Ireland  was  inseparably  annexed  to 
the  Crown  of  Great  Britain,  and  bound  by  British 
acts  of  Parliament,  if  named  in  them — that  the 


HENRY   G  RAIT  AN".  389 

Irish  House  of  Lords  had  no  jurisdiction  in  mat- 
ters of  appeal  —  and  that  the  dernier  resort^  in  all 
cases  of  law  and  equity,  was  to  the  peers  of  Great 
Britain. 

For  his  great  services  in  thus  establishing  Ire- 
land's rights,  the  Parliament  voted  him  £60,000. 
He  considered  that  this  was  a  retainer  for  the  future 
as  well  as  a  mark  of  gratitude  for  the  past,  and 
henceforth  devoted  the  remainder  of  his  life — a 
period  of  nearly  forty  years — to  the  service  of  his 
country. 

Grattan's  last  act,  as  an  Irish  legislator,  was  to 
oppose  the  Union,  Avhich  destroyed  the  nationality 
he  had  made — his  last  act,  as  a  public  man,  was  to 
hurr}''  to  London,  in  his  seventy-fifth  year,  under  the 
infliction  of  a  mortal  disease,  to  present  the  peti- 
tion in  favour  of  the  Irish  Catholics,  and  support  it^ 
at  the  risk  of  life,  in  Parliament. 

Grattan's  great  achievements  were  all  accomplished 
in  early  life,  while  the  ^'purpurea  juvenius''  was  in 
its  bloom,  while  the  heart  was  in  its  spring.  Great 
men,  of  all  shades  of  political  and  party  passion  have 
been  eager  and  eloquent  in  his  praise.  Byron^ 
speaking  of  Ireland,  ranked  him  first  among  those 

"  Who,  for  years,  were  the  chiefs  in  the  eloquent  war, 
And  redeemed,  if  they  have  not  retarded,  her  fall." 

Moore,  who  knew  him  well,  said, 


340  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

"  What  an  union  of  all  the  affections  and  powers, 
By  which  life  is  exalted,  embellished,  refined, 
Was  embraced  in  that  spirit — whose  centi-e  was  (.nrs. 
While  its  mighty  circumference  circled  mankind. " 

Faithfully  too,  as  well  as  poetically,  did  he  de- 
scribe his  speeches  as  exhibiting 

"  An  eloquence  rich,  wherever  its  wave 

Wandered  free  and  triumphant,  with  thoughts  that  shone 
through, 
As  clear  as  the  brook "s  *  stone  of  lustre,'  and  gave, 
With  the  flash  of  t!ie  gem,  its  solidity  too." 

Lord  Brougham  said  that  it  was  "  not  possible  to 
name  any  one,  the  purity  of  whose  reputation  has 
been  stained  by  so  few  faults,  and  the  lustre  of 
whose  renown  is  dimmed  by  so  few  imperfections." 
After  describing  the  characteristics  of  his  eloquence, 
he  added,  "  It  may  be  truly  said  that  Dante  himself 
never  conjured  up  a  striking  image  in  fewer  words 
than  Mr.  Grattan  employed  to  describe  his  relation 
towards  Irish  independence,  when,  alluding  to  its 
rise  in  1782,  and  its  fall,  twenty  years  later,  he  said, 
'  I  sat  by  its  cradlj — I  followed  its  hearse.'  " 

Sydney  Smith,  in  an  article  in  the  Edinhunjh  Re- 
view, shortly  after  Grattan's  death,  thus  bore  testi- 
mony to  his  worth  : — "  Great  men  hallow  a  Avhole 
l^eople,  and  lift  up  all  wlio  live  in  their  time.  What 
Irishman  does  not  feel  proud  that  he  has  lived  in 
the  day s  of  G  rattan  ?  who  has  not  turned  to  him 


HENRY   G  RATTAN.  841 

for  comfort,  from  the  false  friends  and  open  enemies 
of  Ireland?  wlio  did  not  remember  him  in  the  days 
of  its  burnings,  wastings  and  murders  ?  No  govern- 
ment ever  dismayed  him— the  world  could  -not 
bribe  him — he  thought  only  of  Ireland:  lived  for 
no  other  object:  dedicated  to  her  his  beautiful 
fancy,  his  elegant  wit,  his  manly  courage,  and  all 
the  splendour  of  his  astonishing  eloquence.  He  was 
so  born,  so  gifted,  that  poetry,  forensic  skill,  elegant 
literature,  and  all  the  highest  attainments  of  human 
genius,  were  within  his  reach ;  but  he  thought  the 
noblest  occupation  of  a  man  M^as  to  make  other  men 
happy  and  free;  and  in  that  straight  line  he  kept 
for  fifty  years,  without  one  side-look,  one  yielding 
thought,  one  motive  in  his  heart  Avliicli  he  might 
not  have  laid  open  to  the  view  of  God  or  man." 
The  man  to  whom  tributes  such  as  these  were 
voluntarily  paid,  must  have  been  a  mortal  of  no 
ordinary  character  and  merit. 


DANIEL    O'CONNELL. 

Daniel  O'Connell,  at  one  period  called  "the 
member  for  all  Ireland,"  was  born,  not  at,  but  near 
Derrynane  Abbey,  in  Kerry,  on  the  6th  of  August, 
1775,  and  died  at  Genoa  on  the  loth  of  May,  1847. 
lie  had  nearly  completed  his  seventy-second  year. 
For  nearly  forty  years  of  that  extended  period  he 
had  been  a  public  man — perhaps  the  most  public 
man  in  Ireland.  For  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  century 
his  reputation  was  not  merely  Irish — nor  British — 
nor  European — but  unquestionably  cosmopolitan. 

Fallen  as  we  are  upon  the  evil  days  of  ^lediocrity, 
it.  may  not  be  useless  to  dwell  upon  the  conduct  and 
the  character,  the  aims  and  the  actions,  of  one  who, 
think  of  him  as  we  may,  candour  must  admit  to  be 
one  of  the  great  men  of  the  age, — one  of  the  very 
few  great  men  of  Ireland's  later  years. 

"  Some  men  are  born  to  greatness — some  achieve 
greatness  —  and  some  have  greatness  thrust  upon 
them."  Daniel  O'Connell  stands  in  a  predicament 
between  the  two  latter  postulates.  He  certainly 
was  the  artificer  of  his  own  fame  and  power,  but,  as 
certainly,  much  of  it  arose  out  of  the  force  of  circum- 
stances     When  he  launched  his  bark  upon  the 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  343 

ocean  of  politics,  lie  may  Lave  anticipated  some- 
thing— much  of  success  and  eminence,  but  he  never 
could  have  dreamed  of  wielding  such  somplete  and 
magnificent  power  as  Avas  long  at  his  command. 
Strong  determination,  great  ability,  natural  facility 
of  expression,  the  art  of  using  strong  words  with- 
out committing  himself,  and  a  most  elastic  tem- 
perament, ("prepared  for  either  fortune,"  as  Eugene 
Aram  said  of  himself) — all  these  formed  an  extra- 
ordinary combination,  and  yet  all  these,  even  in 
their  unity,  might  have  been  of  little  worth,  but  for 
the  admitted  fact  that  circumstances  happily  occurred 
which  allowed  these  qualities  a  fair  scope  for  devel- 
opment. Many  poets,  I  dare  swear,  have  lived 
and  died  unknown  —  either  not  writing  at  all,  or 
writing  but  to  destroy  what  they  had  written.  No- 
ble orators  have  lived  and  died,  "  mute  and  inglo- 
rious," because  the  opportunity  for  display  had  never 
been  given.  In  truth,  we  may  say,  with  Philip 
"Van  Artevelde, 

"  The  world  knows  nothing  of  its  greatest  men." 

It  is  the  curse  of  Authorship  that  until  the  grave 
fully  closes  upon  his  ashes,  the  fame  of  the  writer  is 
scarcely  or  slightly  acknowledged.  When  the  turf 
presses  upon  his  remains,  we  yield  tardy  justice  to 
his  merits,  and  translate  him,  as  a  star,  into  the 
"heaven  of  heavens"  of  renown.     But  the  Orator, 


S44  BITS   OF   BLAliNEY*. 

on  tlie  other  Land,  has  his  claims  admitted  from  the 
commencement — he  may  make  his  fame  by  one  bold 
effort — he  may  win  admiration  at  one  bound,  and 
each  successive  trial,  while  it  matures  his  powers, 
increases  his  reputation.  He  lives  in  the  midst  of 
his  fame — it  surrounds  him,  like  a  halo :  he  is  the 
observed  of  all  observers, — he  has  constant  motive 
for  exertion — he  breathes  the  very  atmosphere  of 
popularity,  and  has  perpetual  excitement  to  keep  up 
his  exertions.  Of  this  there  scarcely  ever  was  a 
more  palpable  example  than  O'Connell.  Originally 
gifted  with  all  the  attributes  of  a  popular  if  not  a 
great  orator,  he  advanced,  by  repeated  efforts,  to 
the  foremost  rank,  because  the  public  voice  cheered 
him — the  public  opinion  fostered  him.  Had  he,  for 
three  or  four  years,  spoken  to  dull  or  cold  audiences, 
the  world  would  probably  have  lost  him  as  an  ora- 
tor. He  might,  indeed,  have  been  a  great  forensic 
speaker,  but  of  that  eloquence  which  placed  seven 
millions  of  Irish  Catholics  in  a  situation  where, 
without  being  branded  as  rebels,  they  might  openly 
demand  "justice  for  Ireland,"  the  chance  is,  the 
world  have  known  nothing.  What  man,  before 
this  man,  had  ever  succeeded  in  awakening  at  once 
the  sympathy  of  the  old  and  of  the  nt.w  world? 
Few  men  so  well  out-argued  the  sophistry  of  tyr- 
anny. Far  above  the  crowd  must  he  be,  who, 
at  one  and  the  same  time,  affrighted  the  Russian 
autocrat  by  his  bold  invectives,  and  was  appealed 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  S4b 

to  as  the  common  enemy  of  misrule,  bj  the  unhappy 
victims  of  the  "  Citizen-King " — who  not  only  as- 
serted the  rights  of  his  fellow  slaves  in  Ireland,  but 
hesitated  not,  at  all  times  and  in  all  places,  to  ex- 
press his 

"  Utter  detestation 
Of  every  tyranny  in  every  nation !" 

O'Connell  was  often  denounced  as  a  "Dictator." 
What  made  him  one  ?  The  exclusive  laws  which 
kept  him  humiliated  in  his  native  land.  The  wrongs 
of  Ireland  made  him  what  he  was,  and  Misrule  care- 
fully maintained  the  laws  which  made  those  wrongs- 
Had  Ireland  been  justly  governed,  there  would  not 
have  been  occasion  for  such  "  agitation "  as  Mr. 
O'Connell  kept  up.  If  the  "agitator"  was  indeed 
the  monster  which  he  was  represented  to  be,  Misrule 
is  the  Frankenstein  which  made  him  so.  The 
wrongs  of  Ireland  and  the  tyranny  of  evil  govern- 
ment goaded  him  into  action,  and  gave  him  power. 
Misrule  sowed  the  wind,  and  reaped  the  whirlwind. 

It  has  been  strongly  asserted,  and  as  strongly  de- 
nied, that  a  long  line  of  ancestry  gave  O'Connell  an 
hereditary  right  to  take  part  in  the  public  aJEfairs  of 
his  native  land,  as  if  he,  and  all  of  us,  did  not  in- 
herit that  right  as  an  heir-loom  derived  from  the 
first  principles  of  nature.  The  tradition  of  his  house 
was  that  the  O'Connell  family  were  entitled  to  rank 
among  the  most  ancient  in  Ireland,  antiquarians 
15* 


846  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

having  avowed  that  his  surname  was  derived  from 
Conal  Gabhra,  a  prince  of  the  royal  line  of  Milesius 
— that  they  originally  possessed  immense  estates  in 
the  county  of  Limerick,  and  removed  to  the  barony 
of  Iveragh,  in  the  western  extremity  of  Kerry,  where 
they  enjoyed  the  almost  regal  office  of  Toparchs; — 
that,  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  their  then  chief,  Rich 
ard  O'Connell,  made  submission  of  his  lands  to  the 
British  crown ; — that  the  rebellion  of  1641  removed 
the  s"ept  O'Connell  to  the  County  Clare,  by  forfeiture 
(a  certain  Maurice  O'Connell  it  was  who  forfeited 
his  property  in  the  Civil  Wars  of  1641,  and  received 
the  estates  in  Clare  as  a  partial  indemnity ;  his  uncle, 
Daniel  O'Connell  of  Aghgore,  in  Iveragh,  took  no 
share  in  the  Civil  War,  and  thus  preserved  his  es- 
tate) ; — that  the  Clare  branch  of  the  family  supported 
James  II.,  and,  on  the  triumphs  of  the  Orange  party, 
had  to  seek  in  foreign  lands  the  distinctions  from 
which  the  Penal  Laws  excluded  it  in  its  own. 

One  of  these,  a  certain  Daniel  O'Connell,  who 
subsequently  was  created  Count  of  "  the  Holy  Ro- 
man Empire,"  disqualified,  by  his  religion,  from 
holding  military  or  civil  rank  in  his  owm  country, 
entered  the  French  service  in  1757 — when  he  was 
only  fourteen  years  of  age.  He  served  in  the  seven 
years'  war — at  the  capture  of  Port  Mahon,  in  1779, 
and  was  severely  wounded  at  the  grand  sortie  on 
Gibra.ter  in  1782 — remained  faithful  to  Louis  XYL, 
until  fidelity  was  of  no  further  use — emigrated  to 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  347 

England — was  tliere  appointed,  in  1793,  Colonel  of 
the  6tli  Irish  Brigade — retained  that  command  until 
the  corps  was  disbanded — returned  to  France,  at  the 
Eestoration,  in  1814 — was  there  and  then  restored  to 
his  rank  of  General  and  Colonel-Commandant  of  the 
regiment  of  Salm,  and  named  Grand  Cross  of  the 
Order  of  St.  LouLs — refused  to  take  rank  under 
Louis  Pliilippe — and  died  in  1834,  aged  ninety-one^ 
a  military  patriarch,  full  of  years  and  honours,  hold- 
ing the  rank  of  General  in  the  French,  and  being 
oldest  Colonel  in  the  English  service.  Count 
O'Connell  was  grand-uncle  to  "  the  Liberator." 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the  military 
tactics  of  Eui'ope  at  the  present  day  have  emanated 
from  Count  O'Connell.  The  French  Government 
resolved,  in  1787,  that  the  art  of  war  should  be 
thoroughly  revised,  and  a  military  board,  consisting 
of  four  general  officers  and  one  colonel,  was  formed 
for  that  purpose.  Count  O'Connell,  who  then  com- 
manded the  Royal  Suedois  (or  Swedish)  regiment, 
was  justly  accounted  one  of  the  most  scientific  offi- 
cers in  the  service,  and  was  named  as  the  junior 
member  of  that  board.  The  other  members  soon 
discovered  how  correct  and  original  were  the  views 
of  their  colleague,  and  unanimously  confided  to  him 
the  redaction  of  the  whole  military  code  of  France. 
So  well  did  he  execute  this  important  commission, 
that  his  tactics  were  followed  in  the  early  cam- 
paigns ^f  revolutionized  France,  by  Napoleon — and 


848  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

finally  adopted  bj  Prussia,  Austria,  Russia  and 
England. 

To  Morgan  O'Connell,  father  of  "  the  Liberator^" 
descended  none  of  the  properly  originally  held  by 
the  family.  His  elder  brother,  Maurice,  succeeded 
to  a  large  portion,  (that  which  eventually  was  be- 
queathed to  Daniel,)  and  it  had  the  peculiarity  of 
being  free  from  all  chiefry,  imposts,  or  Crown  charge 
— an  unusual  thing,  and  occurring  only  in  the  in- 
stance of  very  remote  tenure.  This  portion  was 
held  under  what  was  called  Shelburne  leases — renew- 
able for  ever,  and  first  granted  before  the  enactment 
of  the  Penal  laws,  and  therefore  not  "discoverable;" 
that  is,  not  liable  to  be  claimed  from  a  Catholic 
holder  by  any  Protestant  who  chose  to  claim  them. 

Daniel  O'Connell's  father  became  a  petty  farmer 
and  a  small  shop-keeper  at  Cahirciveen.  At  that  time 
he  was  simply  known  as  "  Morgan  Conncll," — there 
being  some  to  this  day  who  wholly  deny  the  right 
of  the  family  to  the  prefix  of  "  0."  The  Irish 
proverb  says : 

By  Mac  and  0, 

You'll  always  know 
True  Irishmen,  they  say  ; 

For  if  they  lack 

The  0  or  Mac, 
No  Irishmen  are  they. 

The  same  doubters  have  contended  that  the  inde 


DAXIEL   O'CONNELL.  849 

pendence  realized  by  Morgan  O'Connell  was  gained, 
not  by  farming  nor  by  sbop-keepiug,  but  by  exten- 
sive smuggling.  But  it  was  giiined  in  some  manner, 
and  with  it  was  purchased  a  small  estate  at  Carhen^ 
within  a  mile  of  Cahirciveen,  where  his  jesLTS  of  in- 
dustry had  been  passed,  and  not  far  from  Derrynane. 
It  was  at  Carhen  that  Daniel  O'Connell  was  bom,  on 
the  6th  August,  1775 — ^the  very  day  (he  used  to  say) 
on  which  were  commenced  hostilities  between  Great 
Britain  and  her  American  colonies. 

Daniel  O'Connell's  grandfather  was  the  thii'd  son 
of  twenty -two  children.  He  died  in  1770,  leaving 
as  his  successor  his  second  son,  ^Maui'ice  (John,  the 
eldest,  having  predeceased  him).  This  gentleman 
was  never  married,  and  it  was  on  his  death,  in  1825, 
that  the  "  Agitator  "  succeeded  him  as  owner  of  the 
Derrynane  estate.  Morgan  O'Connell  (father  to  the 
"  Liberator")  died  in  1809,  and  left  two  other  sons, 
who  are  also  handsomely  provided  for — ^John,  as 
owner  of  Grena,  and  James  of  Lakeview,  both  places 
near  Killarney. 

I  trust  that  I  have  not  tia veiled  out  of  my 
way  to  give  this  sketch  of  the  descent  of  the 
fiimily  connexions  of  O'Connell.  It  shows  that, 
at  any  rate,  he  is  not  the  novus  liomo — the  mere 
upstart,  without  the  advantages  of  birth  and  for- 
tune, which  he  was  often  re23resentcd  to  be.  At 
the  same  time,  no  O'Connell  need  be  ashamed  of 
what  honest  industry  accomplished — that  much  of 


350  B  rs   OF   BLARNEY.  . 

the  landed  property  wliicli  O'Connell's  father  inherit- 
ed, held  by  John  O'Gonnell  of  Grena,  was  purchased 
from  the  profits  of  his  business  as  a  farmer  and  gen- 
eral shop-keeper. 

From  the  first,  Maurice  O'Gonnell,  of  Dorrynane, 
attached  himself  to  liis  nephew  Daniel,  whom  he 
educated.  The  earliest  instructions  in  any  branch 
of  learning  which  the  future  "Liberator"  received, 
were  communicated  to  him  by  a  poor  hedge-school- 
master, of  a  class  ever  abounding  in  Kerry,  where 
every  man  is  said  to  speak  Latin.  David  Mahony 
happened  to  call  at  Carhen  when  little  Daniel  was 
only  four  years  old,  took  him  in  his  lap,  and  taught 
him  the  alphabet  in  an  hour  and  a  half  Some  years 
later,  he  was  regularly  taught  by  Mr.  Harrington — 
one  of  th3  first  priests  who  set  up  a  school  after  tht 
repeal  of  tlie  laws  which  made  it  penal  for  a  Roman 
Catholic  clergyman  even  to  live  in  Ireland.  At  the 
age  of  fourteen  he  went  abroad  with  his  brother 
Maurice  to  obtain  a  good  education. 

Seventy  years  ago,  the  policy,  or  rather  the  im- 
policy of  English  domination  actually  prohibited 
the  education  of  the  Catholics  within  Great  Britain 
and  Ireland.  They  were,  therefore,  either  compel- 
led to  put  up  with  very  limited  education,  or  forced 
to  go  abroad  for  instruction, — rather  a  curious  mode 
of  predisposing  their  minds  in  f^ivour  of  the  English 
laws.  ^Ir.  O'Connell  was  origmally  intended  for 
the  priesthood,  and  was  educated  at  the  Catholic 


DANIEL   O'CONXELL.  S^J 

seminary  of  Louvain,  next  at  St.  Oiner,  and,  finally, 
at  the  English  college  of  Douay,  in  France.  But, 
at  that  time,  there  were  fully-  as  many  lay  as  cleri- 
cal ]>upils  at  tliat  college. 

At  St.  Omer,  Daniel  O'Connell  rose  to  the  first 
j)lace  in  all  the  classes,  and  the  President  of  the  Col- 
lege wrote  to  his  uncle,  in  Ireland — "  I  have  but  one 
sentence  to  write  about  him,  and  that  is,  that  I  never 
was  so  mistaken  in  alimy  life  as  I  shall  be,  unless 
he  be  destined  to  make  a  remarkable  figure  in  soci- 
ety." 

The  two  brothers  commenced  their  homeward 
journey  on  the  21st  of  December,  1793 — the  very 
day  on  which  Louis  XVI.  Avas  guillotined  at 
Paris.  During  their  journey  from  Douay  to  Cal- 
ais, they  were  obliged  to  wear  tli3  revolutionary 
cockade,  for  safety.  But,  as  good  Catholics,  they 
were  bound  to  abhor  the  atrocities  perpetrated,  at 
that  time,  by  the  Jacobins,  in  the  sacred  name  of 
liberty,  and  when  they  stood  on  the  deck  of  the  Eng- 
lish packet-boat,  indignantly  tore  the  tri-colour  from 
their  hats,  and  flung  them,  with  all  contempt,  into 
the  water.  Some  French  fishermen,  who  saw  the 
act,  rescued  the  cockades,  and  flung  imprecations 
against  the  "aristocrats"  who  had  rejected  them. 
At  the  same  time,  when  an  enthusiastic  Irish  repub- 
lican, who  had  "  assisted  "  at  the  execution  of  Louis, 
exhibited  a  handkerchief  stained  with  his  blood,  the 
young  students  turned  away  and  shunned  him,  in 


852  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

disgust  and  abhorrence.  Not  then,  nor  at  any 
period  of  his  career,  was  O'Connell  an  anti-mon- 
archist. It  is  said  that,  duiing  the  trial  of  Thomas 
Hardy,  at  London,  (October,  1794,)  for  high  trea- 
son, he  was  so  much  shocked  at  the  unfair  means 
used  by  the  Ci-own  hiwyei-s  to  convict  the  ac- 
cused— means  foiled  by  eloquent  Erskine  and  an 
honest  jury — tliat  he  resolved  to  place  liimself  as 
a  champion  of  Right  against  Might,  and  identify 
himself  with  the  cause  of  the  people.  While  he  was 
on  the  Continent,  that  relaxation  of  the  Penal  laws 
took  place  which  allowed  the  Catholic  to  become 
a  barrister.  It  is  probable  that  this  was  the  imme- 
diate cause  of  his  becoming  a  lawyer.  A  young 
man  of  his  sanguine  temperament  was  likely  to 
prefer  the  bar,  with  its  temporal  advantages, 
— its  scope  for  ambition, — its  excitement, — its  fame, 
to  the  more  secluded  life  of  an  ecclesiastic.  Accord- 
ingly, I  find  that  he  entered  as  a  law-student 
at  Lincoln's  Inn,  in  January,  1794 — eat  the  rc- 
quisit^e  number  of  term-dinners  there,  for  two 
years — pursued  the  same  qualifying  course  ot 
"study"  at  King's  Inn,  Dublin,  and  was  called  to 
the  Irish  bar,  in  Easter  term,  1798,  in:  the  23d 
year  of  his  age. 

The  Rebellion  was  in  full  fling  at  ihe  time, 
and  (in  order,  no  doubt,  to  show  his  "  loyalty "  as 
a  Catholic)  he  joined  what  was  called  "  the  law- 
yers' corps,"  associated  to  assist  the  Goveroment  in 
putting  down  revolt. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  353 

The  peiiod  of  his  admission  was  singularly  fa- 
vourable. Catholics  had  just  been  admitted  to 
the  Irish  bar — to  the  minor  honours  of  the  pro- 
fession ;  although  it  was  hoped,  and  not  extrava- 
gantly, that,  in  time,  all  its  privileges  would  be 
thrown  open  to  them.'  It  was  impossible  to  say 
what  was  Mr.  O'Connell's  ambition  at  the  time; 
however  high,  he  could  not  have  had  a  dream  of  the 
elevation  which  he  subsequently  reached.  He  must 
have  felt,  however,  that  he  had  a  wide  field  for  the 
exercise  of  his  abilities.  His  ostensible  ambition, 
for  many  years,  was  to  become  a  good  lawyer.  Dur- 
ing what  is  called  "  the  long  vacation,"  and  at  other 
periods  when  he  could  spare  time,  he  resided  a  good 
deal  with  his  uncle  in  Keriy,  where  he  pursued  the 
athletic  sports  in  which,  almost  to  the  close  of  his 
career,  he  delighted  to  participate.  On  one  occasion, 
while  out  upon  a  hunting  expedition,  he  put  up  at  a 
peasant's  cabin,  sat  for  some  hours  in  hi^  wet  clothes, 
and  contracted  a  typhus  fever.  In  his  delirium  he 
often  repeated  the  lines  from  Home's  tragedy  of 
Douglas : 

"  Unknown  I  die — ^no  tongue  shall  speak  of  me. 
Some  noble  spirits,  judging  by  themselves, 
May  yet  conjecture  what  I  might  have  proved, 
And  think  life  only  wanting  to  my  fame." 

His  son  has  preserved  a  letter,  written  in  Decem- 
ber, 1795,  when  he  was  in  his  twcnty-lirst  jeiw,  in 


354  BITS   OF  BLARNEY 

^  hich  he  ».  ommunicates  his  views  to  his  uncle  Mau- 
rice, of  Derrjnane.  A  passage  or  two  may  be  worth 
quoting,  to  show  with  what  earnestness  he  devoted 
himself  to  the  career  upon  which  he  was  then  pre- 
paring to  enter.  He  says,  "  I  have  now  two  objects 
to  pursue — the  one,  the  attainment  of  knowledge  ; 
the  other,  the  acquisition  of  all  those  qualities  which 
constitute  the  polite  gentleman.  I  am  convinced 
that  the  former,  besides  the  immediate  pleasure  which 
it  yields,  is  calculated  to  raise  me  to  honour,  rank,  and 
fortune  [how  prophetic  were  the  young  man's  aspi- 
rations !]  ;  and  I  know  that  the  latter  serves  as  a 
general  passport  or  first  recommendation;  and,  as 
for  the  motives  of  ambition  which  you  suggest,  I 
assure  you  that  no  man.  can  possess  more  of  it  than 
I  do.  I  have,  indeed,  a  glowing,  and — if  I  may  use 
the  expression — an  enthusiastic  ambition,  vjliich  con- 
verts every  toil  into  a  pleasure,  and  every  study  into 
an  amusement.''^ 

He  adds,  in  the  same  honourable  spirit,  •'  Though 
nature  may  have  given  me  subordinate  talents,  I 
never  will  be  satisfied  with  a  subordinate  situation 
in  my  profession.  No  man  is  able,  I  am  aware,  to 
supply  the  total  deficiency  of  abilities,  but  every 
body  is  capable  of  improving  and  enlarging  a  stock, 
however  small,  and,  in  its  beginning,  contemptible. 
It  is  this  reflection  that  affords  me  most  consolation. 
If  I  do  not  rise  at  the  bar,  I  will  not  have  to  meet 
the  reproaches  of  my  own  conscience.    *  *  *     In- 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  355 

deed,  as  for  my  knowledge  in  the  professional  line, 
that  cannot  be  discovered  for  some  years  to  come  ; 
but  I  have  time  in  the  interim  to  prepare  myself  to 
appear  with  gi-eater  eclat  on  the  grand  theatre  of  the 
world." 

As  a  barrister,  he  naturally  took  the  Munster  cir- 
cuit, and  here  his  fiimily  connexion  operated  very 
much  in  his  favour.  In  the  counties  of  Clare,  Limer- 
ick, Kerry  and  Cork,  he  had  relatives  in  abundance, 
and  being,  I  believe,  the  first  Catholic  who  had  gone 
that  circuit,  he  naturally  engrossed  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  business  which  the  Catholics  had  pre- 
viously, ex  necessitate^  distributed  among  the  barris- 
ters of  a  contrary  persuasion.  He  succeeded^  more- 
over, in  establishing  the  reputation  of  being  a  shrewd, 
clever,  hard-working  lawyer,  and  briefs  flowed  in  so 
abundantly,  that  he  may  be  cited  as  one  instance, 
amid  the  ten  thousand  difficulties  of  the  bar,  of  groat 
success  being  immediately  acquired.  There  was 
nothing  precarious  in  this  success :  he  was  evidently 
a  shrewd,  clever,  long-headed  lawyer,  and  while  the 
Catholics  gave  him  briefs,  because  of  his  family  and 
religion,  the  Protestants,  not  less  wise,  were  not  back- 
ward in  engaging  his  assistance — not  that  they  much 
loved  the  man,  but  that  his  assistance  was  worth 
having,  as  that  of  a  man  with  a  clear  head,  a  well 
filled  mind,  strong  natural  eloquence,  and,  from  the 
very  first,  a  mastery  over  the  art  of  cross-examining 
witnesses. 


356  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

O'Coniiell's  friends  scarcely  anticipated,  from  what 
his  youth  had  been,  the  success  which  met  him  on 
his  first  step  into  active  manhood.  He  held  his  first 
brief  at  the  Kerry  Assizes,  in  Tralee.  Between  a 
country  gentleman  named  Brusker  Segerson  and  the 
O'Connells  there  long  had  been  a  family  feud. 
Brusker  accused  one  of  the  O'Connell  tenants  at 
Iveragh,  of  sundry  crimes  and  misdemeanors,  which 
judge  and  jury  had  "  well  and  truly  to  try  and  deter- 
mine." Young  O'Connell  had  his  maiden  brief  in 
this  case.  Brusker,  knowing  the  young  lawyer's  in- 
experience, anticipated  a  triumph  over  him,  and  in- 
vited a  party  of  friends  to  witness  the  "  fatal  facility" 
with  which  the  accused  would  be  worsted.  But  it 
happened  not  only  that  the  accused  was  the  acquitted^ 
but  there  was  a  general  opinion,  from  the  facts  on 
the  trial,  that  Brusker  Segerson's  conduct  had  been 
oppressive,  if  not  illegal.  Brusker  turned  round  to 
his  friends  and  soundly  swore  that  "  Morgan  O'Con- 
nell's ybo^  was  a  great  lawyer,  and  would  be  a  great 
man."  Henceforth  he  always  employed  O'Connell 
— ^but  with  the  distinct  and  truly  Irish  understanding 
that  the  hereditary  and  personal  feud  between  them 
should  in  no  wise  be  diminished! 

One  of  O'Connell's  earliest  displays  of  acuteness 
was  at  Tralee,  in  the  year  1799,  shortly  after  he  had 
been  called  to  the  bar.  In  an  intricate  case,  where 
he  was  junior  counsel  (having  got  the  brief  more  as 
Sf.  fitmily  compliment  than  from  any  other  cause),  the 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  S57 

questiou  in  dispute  was  as  to  tte  validity  of  a  will, 
wliich  had  been  made  almost  in  articulo  mortis.  The 
instrument  was  drawn  up  with  proper  form :  the 
witnesses  were  examined,  and  gave  ample  conlirma- 
tion  that  the  deed  had  been  legally  executed.  One 
of  them  was  an  old  servant,  possessed  of  a  strong 
passion  for  loquacity.  It  fell  to  O'Connell  to  cross 
examine  him,  and  the  young  barrister  allowed  him 
to  speak  on,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  say  too  much. 
Nor  was  this  hope  disappointed.  The  witness  had 
already  sworn  that  he  saw  the  deceased  sign  the  will. 
"Yes,"  continued  he,  with  all  the  garrulousness  of 
old  age,  "I  saw  him  sign  it,  and  surely  there  was 
life  in  him  at  the  timer  The  expression,  frequently 
repeated,  led  O'Connell  to  conjecture  that  it  had  a 
peculiar  meaning.  Fixing  his  eye  upon  the  old 
man  he  said, — "  You  have  taken  a  solemn  oath  be- 
fore God  and  man  to  speak  the  truth  and  the  whole 
truth :  the  eye  of  God  is  upon  you ;  the  eyes  of 
your  neighbours  are  fixed  upon  you  also.  Answer 
me,  by  the  virtue  of  that  sacred  and  solemn  oath 
which  has  passed  your  lips,  was  the  testator  alive 
when  he  signed  the  will .?"  The  witness  was  struck 
with  the  solemn  manner  in  which  he  was  addressed, 
his  colour  changed — his  lips  quivered  —  his  limbs 
trembled,  and  he  faltered  out  the  reply — '■'■there  was 
life  in  him."  The  question  was  repeated  in  a  yet 
more  impressive  manner,  and  the  result  was  that 
O'Connell  half  compelled,  half  cajoled  him  to  admit 


858  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

tliat,  after  life  was  extinct,  a  pen  had  been  put  into 
the  testator's  hand, — that  one  of  the  party  guided  it 
to  sign  his  name,  while,  as  a  salvo,  for  the  consciences 
of  all  concerned,  a  living  flj  was  put  into  the  dead 
man's  mouth,  to  qualify  the  witnesses  to  bear  testi- 
mony that  "there  was  life  in  him"  when  h3  signed 
that  will.  This  fact,  thus  extorted  irom  the  witness, 
preserved  a  large  property  in  a  respectable  and 
worthy  family,  and  was  one  of  the  first  occurrences 
in  O'Counell's  legal  career  worth  mentioning.  Miss 
Edgeworth,  in  her  "Patronage,"  has  an  incident  not 
much  different  from  this ;  perhaps  suggested  by  it. 
The  plaintiffs  in  this  case  were  two  sisters  named 
Langton,  both  of  whom  still  enjoy  the  property 
miraculously  preserved  to  them  by  the  ingenuity  of 
O'Connell ;  they  were  connexions  of  my  own  (Sarah 
Langton,  the  youngest,  was  married  to  my  cousin, 
Frank  Drew,  of  Drewscourt),  and  I  have  often  heard 
them  relate  the  manner  in  which  he  had  contrived 
to  elicit  the  truth. 

It  is  no  common  skill  which  can  protect  innr  'ence 
from  shame,  or  rescue  guilt  from  punishment.  No- 
thing less  than  an  intimate  knowled.^'e  of  the  feelings 
of  the  jury,  and  the  habits  and  characteristics  of  the 
witnesses,  can  enable  an  advocate  to  throw  himself 
into  the  confidence  of  a  jury  composed  of  the  most 
incongruous  elements,  and  to  confuse,  baffle,  or  de- 
tect the  witnesses.  There  is  no  power  so  strong  as 
that  of  good  cross-examination  ;  and  I  never  knew 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL.  359 

any  man  possess  that  power  in  a  more  eminent  de- 
gree tlian  O'Connell,  The  difficulty  is  to  avoid 
asking  too  many  questions.  Sometimes  a  single 
query  will  weaken  evidence,  while  a  word  more 
may  make  the  witness  confirm  it.  Some  witnesses 
require  to  be  pressed,  before  they  bring  out  the 
truth — others,  if  too  much  pressed,  will  turn  at  bay, 
and  fatally  corroborate  every  thing  to  which  they 
already  have  sworn.  It  is  no  common  skill  which, 
intuitively  as  it  were,  enables  the  advocate  to  per- 
ceive when  he  may  go  to  the  end  of  his  tether, — 
when  he  must  restrain.  The  fault  of  a  young  bar- 
rister is  that  he  asks  too  many  questions.  It  is  a  cu- 
rious fact,  that,  from  the  first  moment  he  was  called 
to  the  bar,  O'Connell  distinguished  himself  by  his 
cross-examinations.  If  he  was  eminent  in  a  criminal 
trial,  he  was  no  less  so  in  civil  cases.  Here  he 
brought  all  his  legal  learning  to  bear  upon  the  case, 
and  here,  too,  he  had  the  additional  aid  of  that  elo- 
quence which  usually  drew  a  jury  with  him. 

John  O'Connell  gives  an  anecdote  which  illus- 
trates his  father's  success  in  the  defence  of  his  pris. 
oners.  It  had  fallen  to  his  lot,  at  the  Assizes  in  Cork 
to  be  retained  for  a  man  on  a  trial  for  an  aggravated 
case  of  highway  robbery.  By  an  able  cross-exam, 
ination,  O'Connell  was  enabled  to  procure  the  man's 
acquittal.  The  following  year,  at  the  Assizes  for  the 
same  town,  he  found  himself  again  retained  for  the 
same  individual,  then  on  trial  for  a  burglary^  com- 


360  BITS   OF   BLAKNEV. 

mitted  with  great  violence,  very  little  short  of  a  de- 
liberate attempt  to  murder.  On  this  occasion,  the 
result  of  Mr.  O'Counell's  efforts  rose  a  disagreement 
of  the  jury ;  and,  therefore,  no  verdict.  The  Gov- 
ernment witnesses  having  been  entirely  discredited 
during  the  cross-examination,  the  case  was  pursued 
no  farther,  and  the  prisoner  was  discharged.  Again, 
the  succeeding  year,  he  was  found  in  the  criminal 
dock ;  this  time  on  a  charge  of  piracy  !  He  had 
run  away  with  a  collier  brig,  and  having  found 
means  for  disposing  of  a  portion  of  her  cargo,  and 
afterwards  of  supplying  himself  with  some  arms,  he 
had  actually  commenced  cruising  on  his  own  ac- 
count, levying  contributions  from  such  vessels  as 
he  chanced  to  fall  in  with.  Having  "  caught  a  tar- 
tar," whilst  engaged  in  this  profitable  occupation,  he 
was  brought  into  Cove,  and  thence  sent  up  to  Cork 
to  stand  his  trial  for  "piracy  on  the  high  seas." 
Again  Mr.  O'Connell  saved  him,  by  demurring  to 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  Court  —  the  offence  having 
been  committed  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Ad- 
miralty, and,  therefore,  cognizable  only  before  an 
Admiralty  Court.  When  tlie  fellow  saw  his  suc- 
cessful counsel  facing  the  dock,  he  stretched  over 
to  speak  to  him,  and,  raising  his  eyes  and  hands 
most  piously  and  fervently  to  heaven,  he  cried  out— 
"  Oh,  Mr.  O'Connell,  may  the  Lord  spare  you — to 
vte/" 
Here  let  me  give  my  opinion,  that  the  disqualifi- 


DANIEL   O'CONNELt.  36l 

cation  of  his  religious  tenets,  which  kept  him  in  a 
stuff  gown  while  his  juniors  in  standing,  and  infe- 
riors in  talent,  were  strutting  about  with  all  profes- 
sional honour,  was  not  much  detriment  to  O'Connell's 
advancement.  Here  was  a  man,  confessedly  at  the 
head  of  his  profession,  yet  excluded  from  its  honours 
by  unjust  and  intolerant  laws — it  became,  therefore, 
a  practice  to  consider  him  a  martyr  for  the  sake  of 
his  religion,  and  he  got  many  and  many  a  brief  be- 
cause such  was  the  feeling.  His  disqualification  as 
a  Catholic  gained  him  business  as  a  Barrister. 

The  Union  failed  to  make  Ireland  happy — because 
the  chains  of  the  Catholics  were  still  allowed  to  gall 
them,  instead,  as  Mr.  Pitt  contemplated,  of  being  re- 
moved with  the  least  possible  delay.  George  IIT. 
threw  himself  between  Ireland  and  justice.  Relief 
was  expect-cd  from  Mr.  Fox,  and  might,  perhaps, 
have  been  granted,  but  the  death  of  that  statesman, 
almost  immediately  succeeded  by  an  Anti-Catholic 
Ministry,  sounded  the  knell  to  the  hopes  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Ireland.  It  was  at  tliis  time  that  Mr.  O'Con 
nell  came  forward  as  a  politician ;  he  had  personal 
reasons  for  doing  so,  because,  now  being  in  the  en- 
joyment of  a  very  excellent  practice  at  the  bar,  he 
found  numerous  vexations  arising  from  the  privileges 
enjoyed  by  men  less  talented,  less  qualified  than 
himself,  but  who  enjoyed  the  advantages  which  re- 
ligious and  political  "  ascendency  "  gave  them. 

The  Catholics  at  last  threw  themselves  into  an 
16 


3^2  BITS   OF   BLARXKY. 

attitude  of  defence.  O'Connell's  first  decided  step^ 
was  the  taking  part  in  the  proceedings  of  a  meeting 
of  Catholics,  held  in  Dublin  in  May,  1809.  Then, 
for  the  first  time  for  over  a  hundred  years,  Catholics 
literally  "spoke  out."  Their  daring  appeared  to 
draw  strength  for  their  despair.  What  was  called 
"the  Catholic  Committee"  was  formed,  and  this, 
strongly  against  O'Connell's  advice,  violated  the 
law  by  assuming  a  representative  character.  Lord 
Killeen  (eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Fingal,  a  Catholic 
peer),  and  some  others  of  the  leaders,  were  prosecuted 
by  the  Government.  Tliey  were  defended  by  O'Con- 
nell,  and  Ireland  then  witnessed  the  almost  unpre- 
cedented circumstance  of  Catholic  agitators  being 
acquitted  by  a  Protestant  jury  in  Dublin. 

The  Catholic  Committee,  however,  became  alarmed, 
and  broke  up.  Then  was  formed  the  Catholic  Board, 
at  which  it  was  a  matter  of  dispute  whether  Eman- 
cipation might  not  be  purchased  by  allowing  the 
Crown  to  pay  the  Catholic  clergy,  and  giving  the 
head  of  the  Church  of  England  a  veto  on  the  ap- 
pointment of  Catholic  bishops  in  Ireland.  Feeble 
and  vacillating,  the  greater  portion  of  the  Catholic 
nobOity  held  aloof  from  the  struggle,  in  which 
O'Connell  took  the  popular  side.     Later  in  the  day, 

*  O'Connell's  first  public  speech  was  against  the  Union.  It 
was  made  on  January  13, 1800,  at  a  Catholic  meeting  in  Dublin, 
in  unequivocal  condemnation  of  that  measure  The  resolutions 
tliat  day  adopted  were  drawn  up  bj»0'Conneli. 


DANIEL   O'COXNELL.  363 

Sheil  entered  the  arena,  and  assumed  an  antagonistic 
position. 

The  late  Duke  of  Eichmond  (Viceroy  of  Ireland) 
put  down  the  Catholic  Board  by  means  of  his  At- 
torney-General Saurin.  The  members  of  that  Board, 
as  some  small  acknowledgment  for  the  services  of 
their  colleague,  voted  Mr.  O'Connell  a  piece  of  plate, 
of  the  value  of  1000/.  The  Board  being  put  down, 
the  Catholic  cause  would  have  fallen  but  for  the  in- 
trepidity of  O'Connell,  who  assumed  the  leadership 
at  once,  and  published  a  letter,  continued  annually 
for  a  long  time,  in  which  he  stated  the  wrongs  of 
Ireland,  with  her  claims  for  relief,  and  suggested  the 
mode  of  action.  This  annual  message  had  the 
motto,  from  Childe  Harold, 

"  Hereditary  bondsmen,  know  ye  not, 
^Mio  would  be  free,  themselves  must  strike  the  blow." 

Mr.  Saurin  is  said  to  have  seriously  contemplated 
prosecuting  O'Connell  for  sedition  because  of  this 
motto  from  "  Childe  Harold." 

The  Catholic  Board  was  suppressed,  it  is  true, 
but  there  remained  a  thousand  modes  of  action  by 
which  the  spirit  of  patriotism  might  be  kept  alive  in 
Ireland.  Aggregate  and  other  public  meetings  were 
instantly  held,  and  at  one  of  these  Mr.  O'Connell,  in 
1815,  designated  the  Corporation  of  Dublin  as  a 
"  beggarly  corporation."  A  member  of  that  "  beg- 
garly" and  bankrupt  body  took  upon  himself  to 


864  BITS   OF   BLARifEY. 

play  the  bravo  in  its  defence.  This  man  was  a  Mr. 
D'Esterre,  and  is  understood  to  have  had  a  promise 
of  patronage  from  the  Corporation  (in  the  shape  of 
a  good  berth),  if  he  humbled  the  pride  of  O'Connell. 
It  is  more  charitable  than  reasonable  to  hope  that 
the  Corporation  were  not  so  ruffianly  as  to  hold  out 
this  hope  to  D'Esterre,  because  he  was  notoriously 
the  best  shot  in  Dublin ;  and  yet,  such  "honourable  " 
assassination  is  exactly  what  such  a  body  would  re- 
ward, if  they  did  not  suggest  it. 

D'Esterre  paraded  the  streets  of  Dublin  with  a 
hor.se-whip  in  his  hand,  and  vowed  vengeance 
against  O'Connell.  He  did  not  meet  him ;  but  he 
afterwards  challenged  him.  O'Connell  refused  to 
apologize — met  the  challenger,  and  mortally  wound- 
ed him.  D'Esterre,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  crack 
shot,  and  O'Connell  was  not ;  but  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  the  practiced  duellist  suffers  the  penalty 
which  he  has  inflicted  upon  others. 

D'Esterre  had  been  an  officer  of  marines,  and  it 
has  been  stated,  and  always  believed,  that  he  con- 
stituted himself  the  Champion  of  the  Corporation, 
not  only  in  the  hope,  but  with  a  direct  promise  of 
obtaining  a  lucrative  appointment,  provided  that  he 
"silenced"  O'Connell.  The  odds  werf  five  to  one 
in  his  favour — for  h'3  was  cool  and  determined,  and 
could  snuflf  a  candle  with  a  pistol  shot  at  twelve 
paces.  His  skill,  his  coolness,  availed  not.  At  the 
first  shot  he  fell,  and  his  death  speedily  followed. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  365 

Soon  after,  Sir  Robert  Peel  (the  then  Irish  Secre- 
tary) fasten©!  a  quarrel  upon  Mr,  O'Connell,  who 
again  placed  himself  in  the  hands  of  his  friends.  A 
hostile  meeting  was  appointed — the  authorities  in 
Dublin  interfered — the  parties  were  bound  over  to 
keep  the  peace — they  agreed  to  meet  on  the  Conti- 
nent, but  the  duel  was  ultimately  prevented  by  the 
arrest  of  Mr.  O'Connell,  in  London,  on  his  way  to 
Calais.  He  was  held  to  bail  before  the  Chief  Jus- 
tice of  the  King's  Bench,  not  to  fight  Mr.  Peel ;  and 
since  that  time  declined  any  further  meetings  of  the 
sort.*  It  would  have  been  well  if,  when  he  deter- 
mined to  avoid  duels,  O'Connell  had  also  resolved 
to  abstain  from  language  offensive  to  men  of  honour 
and  men  of  feeling.  His  chief  fault,  during  his  last 
thirty  years,  was  the  application  of  epithets  towards 

*  It  was  the  late  Dr.  England,  Catholic  Bishop  of  Charleston. 
S.  C,  who  then  resided  near  Cork,  who  pointed  out  to  O'Con- 
nell the  conjoint  sin  and  folly  of  duelling,  and  induced  him  to 
promise  that  he  would  never  again  appeal  to  arms.  It  was  re- 
ported, at  the  time,  that  O'Connell  had  lingered  in  London, 
when  Peel  expected  him  at  Calais,  awaiting  news  of  his  wife's 
health  (he  had  left  her  ill  in  Dublin),  and  that  another  public 
character  had  declined  a  challenge  on  the  plea  of  his  daughter's 
illness.  The  late  Chief  Justice  Burke  thus  commemorated  the 
double  event : 

"  Two  heroes  of  Erin,  abhorrent  of  slaughter, 
Improved  on  the  Hebrew  command  ; 
One  honored  his  wife,  and  the  other  his  daughter, 
That '  their  days  might  be  long  on  the  land.'  " 


366  BITS   OF   BLAKXEr. 

hjs  political  opponents,  wliicli  appear  to  have  been 
culled  rather  in  the  market  of  Billingsgate,  than  in 
the  flowery  garden  of  Academe ! 

For  several  yeai*s  after  the  duel  with  D'Esten-e, 
O'Connell  was  almost  alone  in  the  struggle  for 
Emancipation.  Hi?  practice  steadily  increased,  and 
his  legal  knowledgi^,  ability  and  tact,  united  with 
wondrous  art  in  the  examination  of  witnesses,  and 
great  influence  with  juries  (by  the  union  of  a  species 
of  rhetoric  consisting  of  common  sense,  humour,  and 
rough  eloquence,  cemented  together  by  a  good 
share  of  "  Blarney"),  soon  made  him  a  very  success- 
ful barrister.  Whenever  a  Catholic  victim  was  to 
be  defended  or  rescued,  whether  an  Orange  op- 
pressor was  to  be  assailed  and  punished,  O'Connell 
was  in  the  van.  The  Catholics  readily  took  him  as 
their  champion,  and  he  won  their  gratitude  by  his 
services,  and  gained  their  personal  attachment  by  a 
good  humour  which  nothing  could  daunt,  and  a 
plain,  straightforward,  affectionate  manner  of  elo- 
quence which  went  directly  home  to  their  hearts. 
To  this  hour  it  is  a  moot  point  whether  the  Irish  had 
greater  admiration  for  his  talents,  gratitude  for  his 
services,  confidence  in  his  fidelity,  or  attachment  for 
his  person. 

He  continued  increasing  in  influence  for  many 
years.  From  1815,  until  he  relinquished  piost  of 
his  practice  in  1831,  the  annual  income  from  his 
professional  pursuits  cannot  have  averaged  less  than 


Daniel  o'coxnell.  367 

from  £6000  to  £8000 — an  immense  sum  for  a  law- 
yer to  make  in  Ireland.  Iso  man  coul  1  make  such 
an  income,  except  one  who  was  nt  once  an  excellent 
Nisi  Prius  j)lea(ler,  as  well  as  a  good  Crown  lawyer. 
He  united  the  highest  qualifications  of  both.  He 
oould  Avield  at  will  immense  power  over  a  jury,  and 
argue  with  a  success  rarely  equalled,  so  as  to  reach 
the  understanding  of  a  judge.  Hence,  he  had  the 
most  extraordinary  versatility.  You  would  see  him 
at  one  o'clock  joking  a  juTy  out  of  a  verdict  in  the 
Nisi  Prius  court,  or  familiarly  laying  down  cases 
for  the  information  of  the  judge  ;  and,  the  next 
hour,  )-ou  might  behold  him  in  the  Crown  court, 
defending  an  unhappy  man  accused  of  murder,  and 
exercising  a  caution  and  prudence  in  his  unparal- 
leled cross-examination  of  witnesses  which  would 
alike  surprise  and  please.  No  man  could  more  readily 
get  the  truth  from  a  witness,  or  make  him  say  only 
just  as  much  as  suits  the  particular  point  he  had  in 
view. 

In  1821,  when  George  the  Fourth  visited  Ireland, 
Mr.  O'Connell  made  "his  first  appearance,  by  parti- 
cular desire,"  in  the  part  of  a  courtier.  He  pre- 
sented a  laurel  crown  to  the  monarch  on  his  depart- 
ure, and  eulogized  hirii  to  the  seventh  heaven  as 
*'  a  real  friend  of  old  Ireland,"  anxious  to  see  her 

"  Great,  glorious,  and  free, 
Firs*'  flower  of  the  earth,  and  first  gem  of  the  sea." 


368  •  BITS   OF   BLARNEY". 

He  did  more  than  tliis.  He  sacrificed  his  feelings, 
as  a  Catholic,  in  order  to  conciliate  tlie  Ascendency 
party.  Intent  on  conciliation,  he  even  dined  witli  the 
Dublin  Corporation,  and  drank  their  charter  toast 
of  intolerance,*  "The  pious,  glorious  and  immortal 
memory."  Concession  was  vain.  The  leopard  would 
not  change  his  spots ;  and,  throwing  away  the  scab- 
bard, O'Connell  drew  the  sword,  and  threw  himself, 
body  and  soul,  into  the  stormy  battle  of  Agitation. 

In  1823,  O'Connell,  finding  how  little  was  to  be 
anticipated  from  George  IV.  (who,  as  king,  forgot 
the  promises  he  made  when  Prince  of  Wales),  or- 
ganized a  great  plan  for  uniting  his  Catholic  coun- 
trymen into  an  array  against  the  laws  which  ex- 
cluded them  from  the  enjoyment  of  their  civil  and 

*  This  celebrated  toast,  the  drinking  or  refusal  of  which,  for 
many  years,  was  the  great  test  of  (political)  Protestantism  in 
Ireland,  was  drank  on  the  knee,  and  ran  thus  :  "  The  glorious, 
pious,  and  immortal  memory  of  the  great  and  good  King  Wil- 
liam, Prince  of  Orange,  who  saved  us  from  Pope  and  Popery, 
brass  money  and  wooden  shoes.  He  that  don't  drink  this  toast, 
may  the  north  wind  blow  hira  to  the  south,  and  a  west  wind 
blow  him  to  the  east ;  may  he  have  a  dark  night,  a  lee  shore, 
a  rank  storm,  and  a  leaky  vessel  to  carry  him  over  the  ferry  to 
hell ;  may  the  devil  jump  down  his  throat  with  a  red-hot  har- 
row, that  every  pin  may  tear  out  his  inside  ;  may  he  be  rammed, 
jammed,  and  damned  into  the  great  gun  of  Athlone,  and  tired 
off  into  the  kitchen  of  hell,  where  the  Pope  is  roasted  on  a  spit, 
and  basted  with  the  fat  of  Charles  James  Fox,  while  the  Devi] 
s  ands  by  pelting  him  with  Cardinals  I" 


DANIEL   O'CONXELL.  369 

religious  rights.  He  had  great  difficulty  in  arousing 
the  languid  energies  of  the  Irish  people,  so  hopeless 
had  they  been  for  a  long  time.  At  last,  the  Catho- 
lic Association  assumed  a  "  local  habitation  and  a 
name."  The  subscription  to  the  somewhat  aris- 
tocratical  Catholic  Board  had  been  five  pounds  a 
year — one  fifth  of  that  amount  was  the  payment  to 
the  Association ;  and,  at  last,  the  Cathohc  Kent  was 
instituted  on  the  basis  of  admitting  contributions 
of  a  shilling  a-year.  Every  subscriber  to  this  small 
amount  thereby  became  a  member  of  the  Associa- 
tion, and  crowds  eagerly  joined  it,  on  these  terms, 
from  all  parts  of  Ireland.  Here  were  agitation  and 
combination.  Here  was  money,  the  very  sinews  of 
war.  Here  was  a  fund,  large  in  amount,  annually 
augmenting,  applicable  to  a  variety  of  purposes  con- 
nected with  the  assertion  of  the  Catholic  claims  and 
the  defence  of  Catholics,  who  thought  themselves 
individually  wronged  or  injured  by  their  Orange 
masters.  Here,  with  O'Connell  at  their  head,  was 
a  band  of  leaders,  most  of  them  in  the  practice 
of  the  law,  who  had  station,  influence,  audacity, 
courage,  integrity,  and  the  art  of  moving  the  multi- 
tude by  voice  or  pen.  The  Government  speedily 
feared,  and  felt,  it  to  be  an  imperium  in  imperio. 

Armed  with  a  vast  numerical  combination,  strong 

in  the  possession  of  large  funds,  headed  by  able  and 

fearless  men,  the  Association  assumed  the  duVy  ol 

standing  bitween  the  people  and  the  mal-adminis- 

16* 


370  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

tratioii  of  tlie  law.  Every  local  act  of  tyranny,  in- 
tolerance and  oppression  was  exposed,  if  it  were  not 
visited  with  exemplary  punishment.  The  com- 
piaints  of  the  people  were  heard,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  the  leaders,  within  the  very  walls  of  the  Im- 
perial Parliament.  A  brilliant  arena  was  opened 
for  Catholic  talent,  for  the  Association  held  its  dis- 
cussions like  a  regular  legislative  assemblj^,  and  its 
debates  were  spread  abroad,  all  over  the  kingdom, 
on  the  wings  of  the  press.  Of  the  whole  system 
O'Connell  was  the  motive  power — -the  head — the 
heart.     His  influence  was  immense. 

Such  an  array  could  not  be  beheld  by  any  govern- 
ment with  indiiference.  It  was  determined  to  put 
down  the  Association  by  act  of  Parliament.  lu 
1825,  O'Connell  formed  one  of  a  deputation  to  Eng- 
land, to  make  arrangements  for  an  £<djustmeut  of 
the  Catholic  claims — committed  the  error  of  con- 
senting to  take  Emancipation  clogged  with  "the 
wings"  (that  is,  ta  State  payment  for  the  Catholic 
clergy,  and  confiscation  of  the  40s.  elective  fran- 
chise), but  finally  admitted  his  mistake,  and  his  error 
of  judgment  was  forgiven  by  his  countrymen.  The 
Association  was  suppressed.  O'Connell,  whose  pol- 
icy was  to  baffle  rather  than  to  contest,  and  whose 
boast  ever  was  that  he  agitated  "  within  the  law," 
allowed  the  Catholic  Association  to  dissolve  itself, 
but  I  ontinued  the  agitation  by  "aggregate  meet- 
ings" in  nearly  every  county  of  Ireland,  and  by  the 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  371 

esta^jlisliment  of  a  new  Catholic  Association,  formed 
ostensibly  for  purposes  of  charity  alone.  The  Gov- 
ernment could  do  nothing  against  this. 

In  1826,  when  a  general  election  took  place,  O'Con- 
nell  brought  into  unexpected  operation  the  forces 
which  he  commanded.  He  started  popular  candi- 
dates in  several  Irish  counties,  and  defeated  the  former 
members,  who  had  always  voted  against  the  Catho- 
lics, The  lesson  was  a  striking  one,  but  the  Exe- 
cutive in  Downing-street  heeded  it  not,  and  declared 
unmitigated  and  perpetual  enmity  against  the  Ca- 
tholics. On  the  other  hand,  the  Association  pledged 
itself  to  oppose  ever\'  candidate  connected  with  the 
government.  In  1828,  a  vacancy  occurred,  by  Mr. 
Vesey  Fitzgerald  (who  himself  had  always  voted  for 
Catholic  Emancipation)  having  accepted  a  seat  in  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  Cabinet,  and  then  O'Connell 
ventured  the  bold  experiment  of  contesting  the  re- 
presentation of  Clare.  He  was  returned  after  a  most 
severe  contest — forced  Wellington,  by  that  election 
to  concede  Emancipation — claimed  his  scat  under 
that  concession — was  refused  by  Mannt  rs  Sutton, 
the  Speaker — was  re-elected  for  Clare* — since  sat  for 
Waterford,  Kerry,  Dublin,  Kilkenny,  and  CT^rk — 
made  the  best  speech  upon  the  Reform  Bill — sup- 
ported the  Melbourne  ministry  when  the  contest 
bet/~een  them  and  Peel  came  on — invariably  main- 

*  Mr.  Grattan  says,  at  an  expense  of  £20,000 — an  amount  which 
seems  incredible,  as  there  was  only  a  brief  shadow  of  opposition. 


372  BITS   OY   BLARNEY. 

tained  tte  most  liberal  principles,  and  supported  tlie 
most  liberal  measures — diminished,  if  he  did  not 
conquer,  the  dislike  which  England  and  Scotland 
felt  towards  him  as  a  Catholic  and  Irish  agitator — 
and  had  a  parliamentary  influence  greater  than  any 
man  ever  before  possessed,  being  able  to  count  on 
the  votes  of  forty  members,  who  formed  what  is 
called  the  joints  of  his  "  tail." 

Had  O'Connell's  labors  as  an  agitator  ceased  when 
they  achieved  Ernancii)ation,  no  reputation  could 
have  stood  higher.  But,  from  1829,  he  attempted 
to  make  "  Repeal"  his  party-cry.  In  April,  1834, 
he  moved  for  the  Repeal  of  the  Union.  Thirty- 
eight  members  voted  with,  and  five  hundred  and 
twenty-three  against  him.  Only  one  English  mem- 
ber supported  him — Mr.  James  Kennedy,  who  sat 
for  the  small  borough  of  Tiverton. 

The  influence  of  O'Connell  continued  great,  with 
the  Government,  as  well  as  in  Ireland,  while  the 
Whigs  were  in  office.  But  the  Melbourne  ministry- 
broke  up  in  the  autumn  of  1841,  and  "Othello's 
occupation"  was  gone  when  they  went  over  to  the 
opposition  benches.  In  1843,  it  is  true,  he  made 
renewed,  important  and  remai-kablc  attempts  to  ex- 
cite Ireland — to  agitate  (within  the  law)  against  the 
government  of  which  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  the  head, 
but  he  was  prosecuted,  and  the  ^lonster  I'rials,  last- 
ing twenty-five  days,  and  ending  in  his  conviction 
and  imprisonmentj  first  taught  his  countrymen  that 


DANIEL    OCONNELL.  873 

be  was  not  infallible  nor  iu\nilnerable.  His  convJc- 
tiou  was  subsequently  annulled  by  the  House  of 
Lords,  on  appeal,  but  the  iron  had  entered  into  his 
soul,  and  Avhen  he  resumed  his  seat  in  Parliament 
he  evidently  w^as  breaking.  Then  followed  the  re- 
volt against  his  supremacy  by  the  vigorous  and  more 
decided  "Young  Ireland"  party,  and,  with  failing 
health  and  defeated  aims,  he  went  to  the  Continent 
— his  desire  being  to  visit  that  imperial  and  Papal 
Rome  of  which  he  had  long  been  the  energetic  and  obe- 
dient servant.  He  died  before  he  accomplished  his 
pilgrimage  ;  but  his  heart  rests  in  the  Eternal  City. 

Here  it  can  scarcely  be  out  of  place  to  glance  at 
O'Connell's  success  as  a  Parliamentary  orator. 

In  the  British  Par'  lament,  w^here  oratorical  suc- 
cess is  usually  very  difficult.  Irishmen  have  gene- 
rally shown  themselves  not  merely  good,  but  even 
eloquent  speakers.  Edmund  Burke  may  challenge 
mention  alongside  of  the  great  Chatham — and  will 
have  a  more  permanent  place  of  honour,  because  his 
speeches,  admirable  even  as  compositions,  now  be- 
long to  the  standard  classics  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race.  Sir  Philip  Francis  (the  reputed  author  of 
"  The  Letters  of  Junius")  was  not  inferior,  in  power 
and  effect,  to  the  younger  Pitt.  Richard  Brinsley 
Sheridan  and  George  Canning  nobl\-  maintained  the 
national  credit,  as  transcendently  eloquent  men. 
Lord  AYellesley  and  Henry  Grattan  occupy  a  first 
position  as  great  orators.     In  later  days,  assuredly 


374  BITS   OF  BLARNET. 

Daniel  O'Cc  ^nell  and  Richard  Lalor  Slieil  have  not 
been  surpassed  by  9uy  of  their  rivals,  "Whenever 
Irish  parliamentary  eloquence  is  spoken  of,  William 
Conyngham  "Plunket  cannot  be  overlooked.  lie 
was,  perhaps,  the  very  best  speaker  in  the  British 
Parliament  at  any  time.  He  had  few  of  the  ordi- 
nary characteristics  of  Irish  eloquence.  Wit  he 
possessed  in  a  high  degree,  but  was  chary  in  its  use. 
Pathos  he  rarely  ventured  upon — though  there  are 
some  incidental  touches  at  once  tearful  and  tender. 
He  relied  on  clear  arrangement  of  facts,  logical 
closeness  of  reasoning,  strong  earnestness,  remark- 
able sagacity,  and  the  exercise  of  tact  and  common 
sense  which  a  spirit  at  once  strong  and  ardent  had 
disciplined  and  exercised.  His  manner,  also,  grave 
and  almost  austere,  added  weight  to  his  words  of 
power.  He  succeeded  Grattan  in  the  leadership  of 
the  Catholic  party  in  Parliament,  and  his  speech 
(in  1821)  converted  nine  votes  from  hostility  to 
justice.  It  was  on  this  occasion,  alluding  to  the 
great  departed  who  had  joined  in  the  discussions 
relative  to  Ireland's  claims  for  civil  and  religious 
liberty,  that  he  said — "Walking  before  the  sacred 
.mages  of  the  illustrious  dead,  as  in  a  public  and 
solemn  procession,  shall  we  not  dismiss  all  party 
feeliags,  all  angry  passions,  all  unworthy  prejudices? 
I  will  not  talk  of  past  disputes ;  I  will  not  mingle 
in  this  act  of  national  justice  anything  that  can 
awaken  personal  animosity." 


DANIEL    O'CONKELL.  375 

Et  was  not,  lio\\ever,  in  the  English  legislature, 
but  during  the  last  twenty  years  of  the  Irish  Parlia- 
ment, that  Irish  eloquence  was  in  its  zenith.  On 
one  hand  were  Fitzgibbon  and  Scott  (afterwards 
Lords  Clare  and  Clonmel),  Connolly,  Cavendish, 
and  Arthur  Wolfe.  On  the  other  side  was  such  an 
array  of  talent,  patriotism,  and  eloquence  as,  in  the 
same  period  of  time,  has  never  been  surpassed — 
never  equalled.  There  were  Hussey  Burgh  and 
James  Fitzgerald,  Flood  and  Grattan,  Curran  and 
Barry  Yelverton,  Plunket  and  Saurin,  Parnell  and 
Denis  Daly,  Brownlow  and  Saxton  Perry,  Foster 
and  Ponsonby,  Goold  and  Peter  Burrowes,  silvery- 
tongued  Bushe  and  honest  Robert  Ilolmes.  Most 
of  these  were  lawyers,  and  made  an  exception  to  the 
general  rule  that  the  eloquence  of  the  Bar  and  of 
the  Senate  are  so  different  in  character  as  to  seem 
almost  incompatible  in  practice.  In  Ireland,  during 
her  last  days  of  nationality,  the  great  cause  for  whicli 
they  were  contending,  appeared  to  have  animated 
the  members  of  the  bar  with  a  spirit  wliich  dis- 
dained all  narrow  limits  of  conventionality,  and  ele- 
vated them  above  the  ordinary  routine  of  common 
life.  We  read,  in  Holy  Writ,  liow  one  of  the 
seraphim  touched  Isaiah's  lips  with  fire,  and,  with 
little  effort  of  the  imagination,  we  may  well  believe 
that  Patriotism,  in  like  manner,  touched  the  lips  of 
Irishmen,  during  that  hard  struggle  for  the  \erj 
existence  of  their  na.tion.  a*  once  hallowing  and 


3t6  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

purifying  the  ^  words  wliicli  fell  from  them.  But 
such  eloquence  was  only  a  flash  amid  darkness,  too 
brilliant  to  stay,  and  force  and  fraud  were  evil  spirits 
superior,  at  that  time,  to  Truth,  Virtue,  and  Elo- 
quence. The  day  may  come  when  Ireland  shall 
once  again  be  a  nation, — may  the  Past  then  and  for- 
ever be  a  lesson  and  a  warning. 

It  is  singular  that,  in  the  Irish  Parliament,  nearly 
all  the  great  s^^eakers  have  been  lawyers.  With 
few  exceptions,  men  of  law  have  not  succeeded  in 
the  Enolish  Parliament.  Lords  Mansfield,  Lvnd 
hurst  and  Brougham,  with  RomiUy  and  Follett,  are 
the  chief  exceptions.  Camden,  Thurlow,  Eldon,  Gif- 
ford,  Cottenham,  Truro,  St.  Leonards,  Erskine,  Scar- 
lett, Stowell,  Tenterden,  Best,  and  a  great  many 
more  did  not  maintain,  in  Parliament,  the  reputa- 
tion they  had  won  at  the  bar.  Three  Irishmen, 
however,  albeit  members  of  the  legal  profession, 
have  taken  the  lead  in  the  British  Senate,  even  in 
our  own  time.  These  were  Plunket,  O'Connell, 
and  Shell. 

Of  Plunket  and  Shell  there  may  be  another  occa- 
sion and  opportunity  of  speaking.  It  is  of  O'Con- 
nell that  I  would  record  a  few  impressions  now. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  when  he  entered 
Parliament,  in  1829,  he  had  entered  into  his 
fifty -fifth  year.  Plunket  was  at  least  ten  years 
younger  when  he  too  entered  the  British  House  of 
Common*.      Shell  was  little  more  than  thirty-six 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  377 

whei .  lie  took  his  seat.  It  was  feared  by  his  friends 
and  hoped  by  his  enemies  that,  like  Erskine  and 
other  great  advocates,  O'Connell  would  fail  in  Par- 
liament. True  it  was  that  G  rattan  was  fiftj-nine 
before  he  first  spoke  in  the  English  House  of  Com- 
mons— but  Grattan  was  one  in  ten  thousand.  Be- 
sides, he  was  all  his  life  a  parliamentary  speaker, 
which  is  very  difierent  from  being  a  lawyer  in  full 
practice  also — ^the  assentials  for  success  at  the  bar 
and  in  the  Senate  being  far  apart.  Grattan  himself, 
speaking  of  his  great  rival,  Flood,  who  had  greatly 
distinguished  himself  in  the  Irish,  and  as  greatly 
failed,  in  the  English  Parliament,  said  "he  forgot 
that  he  was  a  tree  of  the  forest,  too  old  and  too  great 
to  be  transplanted  at  fifty." 

O'Connell's  opponents  confidently  anticipated  his 
failure.  He  is  too  much  of  a  mob-orator,  wiis  the 
cry  of  one  set.  He  will  never  please  so  refined 
an  assembly  as  the  British  House  of  Commons ;  he 
is  too  much  of  a  lawyer,  said  another  section  of  ill- 
wishers,  and  we  know  how  perpetually  lawyers  fail 
in  the  House.  His  accent  is  dead  against  him,  lisped 
a  few  others,  and  will  be  laughed  at  as  vulgar.  One 
of  his  most  violent  antagonists  was  Lord  Eldon,  be- 
fore whom  he  had  appeared,  in  an  appeal  case  before 
the  Lords,  when  he  visited  London  in  1825  (on  the 
memorable  occasion  of  "the  Wings");  but  this 
Chancellor,  inimical  as  he  was,  turned  round  to 
Lord  Wynfbrd  (then  Sir  W.  D.  Best),  when  the 


sirs  BITS    OF    BLARXEY. 

speech  wus  ended,  and  said,  "What  a  knowledge 
of  law ! — how  condensed,  yet  how  clear  his  argu- 
ment!— how  extremely  gentlemanly,  and  even  cour- 
tierly  is  his  manner.  Let  him  only  be  in  the  House 
once,  and  he  will  carry  every  thing  before  him," 
Many  even  of  O'Connell's  own  friends  doubted 
whether  he  could  accommodate  himself  to  the  man- 
ners, fashion,  habits,  and  restrictions  of  that  very 
artificial  assemblage,  presumed  to  contain  "  the  col- 
lective wisdom  of  the  nation,"  but  the  slightest 
doubt  on  the  subject  does  not  appear  to  have  cast 
its  shadow  into  his  own  mind.  To  him,  as  to  Lady 
Macbeth,  there  was  no  such  word  as — ^fail !  Like 
Nelson,  he  did  not  know  what  fear  was. 

His  putting  up  for  Clare  Election,  in  1828,  was 
one  of  the  boldest  measures  ever  ventured  on- 
short  of  raising  the  banner  of  revolt  against  the 
government.  It  compelled  WelHngton  and  Peel  to 
concede  Catholic  Emancipation — a  concession  un- 
gracious and  ungrateful,  since  it  was  clogged  with  a 
clause,  the  result  of  personal  spite,  prohibiting  0' Cou- 
ncil, because  he  had  been  elected  in  1828,  from  tak- 
ing the  oaths  contained  in  the  Eelief  Bill  of  1829. 
That  prohibition  sent  him  back  to  Clare  for  re-elec- 
tion, and  he  entered  Parliament  with  his  mind  not 
■unnaturally  angry  at  the  injustice  for  which  he  had 
been  singled  out  as  a  victim. 

He  took  his  seat,  and,  almost  immediately,  it  was 
perceived  that  he  was  not  to  be  trifled  with.     Na- 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  379 

ture  had  been  bountiful  to  liiui.  In  stature  tall, 
and  so  strongly  built  that  it  was  only  by  seeing, 
when  a  man  of  ordinary  height  was  by  his  side,  how 
much  he  over-topped  him.  Physical  vigour  and 
mental  strength  were  well  combined  in  him.  Then, 
his  voice — a  miraculous  organ,  full  of  power,  but 
not  deficient,  either,  in  mellow  sweetness.  His 
glance  told  little — but  his  lips  were  singularly  ex- 
pressive, as  much  so  as  the  eyes  are  to  ordinary 
mortals.  Add  to  this,  a  full  consciousness  of  power 
— a  conviction  that  he  had  been  the  main  agent  for 
opening  Parliament  to  his  hitherto  prohibited  co- 
religionists— ^that  Ireland  looked  to  him,  and  not 
without  cause,  for  a  great  deal  more — that  he  vir- 
tually represented,  not  the  men  of  Clare  only,  but 
was  "  Member  for  all  Ireland," — that  he  was  a  tac- 
tician, trained  jDy  thirty  years  of  public  life, — that 
he  had  also  the  practiced  skill  in  handling  all  the 
available  points  of  an  argument  which  his  profes- 
sional career  had  given  him, — and  that  he  then 
looked  upon  Emancipation  only  as  an  instalment. 
Put  all  these  together,  and  it  will  be  seen,  at  once, 
that  the  man  in  whom  they  were  embodied  could 
scarcely  fail  to  make  himself  felt,  dreaded,  and  much 
observed. 

In  the  first  twelvemonth — that  is,  from  his  re- 
election in  1829,  until  the  meeting  of  tlie  new  Par- 
liament in  November  1830  —  O'ConneU  disap- 
pointed a  great  many  by  playing  what  may  be 


380  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

called  a  waiting  game.  It  was  expected  that  he 
would  be  perpetually  speaking,  upon  all  occasions, 
and,  in  that  case,  attempts  would  have  been  made 
to  laugh,  or  cough,  or  clamor  him  down.  lie  voted 
regularly,  and  always  on  the  right  side.  In  1831, 
when  the  Grey  ministry  were  in  pow^^r,  O'Connell, 
now  strengthened  by  a  strong  and  compact  body  of 
Irish  members  pledged  to  work  with  and  under  him 
(their  return  was  the  result  of  the  General  Election), 
took  the  station  in  the  Legislature  which  he  main- 
tained for  nearly  fifteen  years.  During  the  pro- 
longed struggle  for  Parliamentary  Reform,  one  of 
the  most  impressive  speeches  in  advocacy  of  the 
measure  was  O'Connell's.  On  all  great  occasions 
his  voice  was  heard  and  his  vote  given.  It  cannot 
be  asserted  that  he  invariably  spoke  and  voted  as 
now,  when  we  read  the  events  of  those  days  as  his- 
tory, it  may  dispassionately  be  thought  he  should 
have  done ;  but  he  was  undoubtedly  an  indefatigable, 
earnest,  eloquent  member  of  Parliament,  through 
whose  pertinacity  and  tact  many  concessions  were 
made  to  Ireland  which  were  calculated  to  serve  her. 
The  geniality  of  his  nature  was  as  unchecked  in  the 
Senate  as  it  had  been  at  the  Bar,  or  in  the  Catholic 
Association.  He  was  eminently  a  good-tempered 
man,  and  this  availed  him  much  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  where,  if  it  so  please  him,  a  man  can 
readily  make  himself  and  others  uncomfortable  by 
the  exhibition  of  even  a  small  portion  of  ill-temper. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  381 

Sometimes  he  laughed  at  his  opponents,  but  so 
good-naturedly  that  they  also  enjoyed  the  jest. 
Such  was  his  cut  at  John  Walter,  proprietor  of  the 
Times,  who  had  remained  on  the  ministerial  benches 
after  his  Tory  friends  had  quitted  them.  He  re- 
moved, speedily  enough,  when  O'Conjiell  pointed 
to  him  as — • 

"  The  last  rose  of  sammer,  left  blooming  alone." 

So,  when  Lord  Stanley  (now  Earl  of  Derby)  sep- 
arating from  the  Whigs,  started  a  party  of  his 
own,  which  was  lamentably  small,  O'Connell  quoted 
against  him  a  couplet  from  a  familiar  poet — 

"  Thus  down  thy  side,  romantic  Ashbourne,  glides 
The  Derby  dilly,  carrying  six  iosides." 

And  so,  pre-eminent  over  all  was  his  parody  on 
Dryden's  celebrated  comparison.  Three  Colonels 
(Perceval,  Yerner,  and  Sibthorpe)  represented  Sligo, 
Armagh,  and  Lincoln.  The  two  first  were  smooth- 
faced and  whiskerless  as  a  maiden.  Sibthorpe  is 
"  bearded  like  a  bard."  O'Connell,  alluding  to  them 
in  the  House,  thus  hit  them  off,  amid  a  general 
roar,  in  which  the  victimized  trio  could  not  refrain 
from  joining — 

"-Three  Colonels  iu  three  distant  counties  born, 
Sligo,  Armagh,  and  Lincoln  did  adorn. 
The  first  in  matchless  impudence  surpassed, 
The  next  in  bigotry — in  both  the  last. 
The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  g  j, 
To  beard  the  third  she  shaved  the  other  two," 


382  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

Like  other  politicians,  O'Coiinell  did  not  esc:  pe 
without  occasional  personal  passages  at  arms.  In 
one  of  these,  with  Mr.  Dohertv,  then  Irish  Solicitor- 
General,  in  May,  1830,  O'Connell  may  be  said  to  have 
come  off  second-best.  He  had  attacked  Doherty  for 
his  conduct  as  Crown  lawyer  in  what  was  called  the 
Doneraile  conspiracy.  The  whole  of  the  Tory  party 
sided  with  Doherty,  who  made  a  forcible  defence, 
attacking  his  assailant  in  turn,  and  the  Whigs  did 
not  very  warmly  support  O'Connell,  Avho  had  then 
only  been  a  few  months  in  Parliament.  This  ren- 
conire^  which  took  place  while  "The  Duke"  Avas 
Premier,  raised  Doherty  to  the  Chief  Justiceship  of 
tlie  Common  Pleas  in  Ireland — and  led  to  Peel's  of- 
fering him  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet  in  1834,  and  a 
Peerage  in  1840.  O'Connell  used  to  say,  and  with 
truth,  that  he  had  placed  Doherty  on  the  Bench. 

On  another  occasion  O'Connell  was  far  more  suc- 
cessful. This  was  the  celebrated  Bre  tch  of  Privi- 
lege case. 

Victoria  ascended  the  throne  in  June,  1837 
Shortly  after  there  was  a  General  Election,  and  a 
great  many  of  the  members  returned  vvere  peti- 
tioned against.  The  Torijs  had  raised  a  large  fund 
to  defray  the  cost  of  these  proceedings,  and  it  was 
called  "  The  Spottiswoode  Subscription,"  as  Spottis- 
woode,  the  Queen's  printer  (a  patent  life-office  of 
much  emolument),  acted  as  its  treasurer.  Angiy 
debates  arose  in  the  House  of  Comrions  on  this 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  883 

subject,  and  peiaonalities  were  so  iiiucTi  ai  d  so 
tumultuouslj  bandied  to  and  fro,  tliat  Mr.  ^\.ber- 
crombie,  the  Speaker,  threatened  to  resign  if  they 
were  repeated, — as  if,  grasping  Scotchman  as  he 
was,  he  could  ever  have  brought  himself  to  resign 
the  £6,000  a-year  attached  to  the  office ! 

The  controverted  elections  were  duly  referred  to 
the  usual  Election  Committees,  ballotted  for  out  of 
the  members  then  in  the  House.  These  committees 
were  duly  sworn,  as  juries  are,  to  do  justice  between 
man  and  man.  But  it  Avas  unhappily  notorious  that 
when  the  majority  were  Whigs,  they  almost  inva- 
riably decided  against  Tory  members,  and  vice  versa. 
As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  the  majority  of  the  de- 
cisions went  to  unseat  Liberal  members.  As  parties 
were  nearly  balanced  in  Parliament,  at  that  time — 
indeed  the  AVhigs  remained  in  office  merely  because 
there  was  a  new  and  inexperienced  sovereign  who 
would  have  been  puzzled  how  to  act  on  a  change  of 
ministry — the  Liberals  complained  of  the  decisions 
of  the  Election  Committees. 

On  February  23,  1838,  Lord  Afaidstone,  who  had 
been  elected  for  Northamptonshire,  and  was  the 
eldest  son  of  the  intolerant  Earl  of  Winchelsea,  Avho 
fought  a  duel  on  the  Catholic  Relief  BiU,  Kith  Wel- 
lington, in  1829,  drew  the  attention  of  the  House  of 
Commons  to  a  Breach  of  Privilege.  He  complained 
that,  two  days  before,  at  a  public  dinner  given  at  the 
Crown  and  Anchor  Tavern,  Mr,  O'Connell  had  de* 


884  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

Glared  that  in  the  Election  Committee?  "  Corruption 
of  the  worst  description  existed,  and  above  all  there 
was  tlie  perjury  of  the  Tory  politicians.'  Also, 
that  lie  "was  ready  to  be  a  martyr  to  justice  and 
truth;  but  not  to  false  swearing,  and  tlierefore,  he 
repeated,  that  ther-.'  was  foul  perjury  in  the  Tory 
Committees  of  the  House  of  Commons." 

What  followed  I  saw,  and  can  never  forget. 
O'Connell,  who  had  been  reading  (or  appearing  to 
read)  a  newspaper  while  Lord  ^laidstone  was  accus- 
ing him,  keenly  arose,  sternly  looked  around  the 
House,  folded  his  arms,  and,  in  his  deepest  tones  and 
most  impressive  manner,  said,  "  Sir,  I  did  say  every 
word  of  that — every  word  of  that ;  and  I  do  repeat 
that  I  believe  it  to  be  perfectly  true.  Is  there  a  man 
who  will  put  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  say  that  it 
is  not  true  ?  Such  a  man  would  be  laughed  to 
scorn," 

Maidstone  then  gave  notice  of  a  motion  condem- 
natory of  O'Connell,  and  the  discussion  was  ad- 
journed until  the  following  Monday.  Maidstone 
moved  that  O'Connell's  speech  was  an  imputation 
on  the  whole  House,  and  that  he  be  censured  for  it 
as  a  breach  of  privilege.  O'Connell  replied  in  a 
speech  of  great  power,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was 
self-designated  "  The  pensioned  servant  of  Ireland," 
and  plainly  declared  that  whenever  an  Election 
Committee  was  appointed,  it  was  known  that  the 
decision  would  be  exactly  according  to  the  political 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  385 

majority  of  its  members ;  and  repeating  that  lie 
had  spoken  only  the  truth,  and  would  stand  by  his 
words.     The  Agitator  then  retired. 

A  great  many  members  spoke,  —  the  Whigs 
making  a  lukewarm  defence  for  O'Connell,  instead 
of  admitting  and  lamenting  the  trutliof  his  remarks. 
The  Tories  clamoured  for  a  heavy  censure.  In  a 
House  of  517  members,  out  of  658,  a  majority  of 
nine  were  for  the  censure.  Next  Daniel  Callaghan, 
member  for  Cork  city,  Edmund  Burke  Roche,  mem- 
ber for  Cork  county,  W.  D.  Gillon  for  Falkirk,  and 
J.  P.  Somers  for  Sligo,  severally  and  seriously  de- 
clared that,  each  and  all,  they  adopted  Mr.  O'Con- 
nell's  words  and  sentiments !  It  was  then  carried 
by  298  to  85  (Lord  John  Russell  voting  in  the  ma- 
jority) that  the  words  were  "a  false  and  scandalous 
imputation  on  the  House." 

Next,  on  the  motion  that  O'Connell  be  repri- 
manded in  his  place,  an  exciting  debate  ensued. 
Mj.  Callaghan  repeated  his  endorsement  of  O'Con- 
nell's  imputation,  and  his  words  were  taken  down 
by  the  Clerk  of  the  House,  on  the  motion  of  Mr. 
Hume,  who  called  on  the  Speaker  to  notice  his  con- 
tumacy. But  the  Speaker  was  mute.  Next  day, 
Mr.  Roche  also  repeated  his  full  adherence  to  O'Con- 
nell's  charge.  The  vot€  of  censure  was  carried  by 
a  majority  of  twenty-nine. 

O'Connell  duly  attended  in  his  place,  was  gravely 
reprimanded  by  the  Speaker  (his  own  particular 
17 


386  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

friend !),  and  said,  when  the  farce  was  over,  "  Galilee 
remarked  '  the  world  does  move,  after  all.'  And  so, 
despite  the  censure  of  this  House,  I  repeat  all  I  said 
before.  The  system  I  condemn  reminds  one  of  the 
Judge  in  Rabelais  who  decided  cases  by  throwing 
three  dice  for  the  plaintiff  and  two  for  the  defendant. 
I  had  rather  take  the  dice-box  and  say  '  seven's  the 
main,'  than  take  my  chance  on  an  Election  Commit- 
tee of  this  House.'  I  express  no  regret  for  what  I 
have  said.  I  have  retracted  nothing.  I  will  retract 
nothing.     I  have  told  the  truth." 

So  saying,  having  bearded  the  House  by  strongly 
repeating  his  accusation,  he  sat  down.  It  was  con- 
sidered that  he  had  gained  a  victory,  and  the  conclu- 
sion of  all  was  a  total  change  and  reform  in  the 
system  of  Parliamentary  election  committees. 

But  it  was  in  Ireland — whether  in  the  Catholic 
Association,  at  an  Aggregate  fleeting,  at  a  public 
dinner,  or  in  a  court  of  law — that  O'Connell  was  to 
be  seen  "  in  all  his  glory."  In  Ireland  his  influence 
was  extraordinary — not  only  for  its  vast  extent,  but 
for  its  continuance.  No  other  public  man,  no  mat- 
ter what  the  country  or  the  age,  has  maintaineJ  his 
popularity,  as  O'Connell  did,  for  nearly  forty  years. 
I  think  that  this  may  be  partly  attributed  to  the 
l>elief,  long  and  widely  entertained  by  his  followers, 
almost  unbroken  to  the  last,  encouraged  by  himself, 
and  generally  borne  out  by  circumstances,  that  he 
was  above  the  law,  that  the  law  could  not  reach  him. 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  387 

that  he  "could  drive  a  coach  and  six  througli  any 
Act  of  Parliament." 

In  February,  1831,  he  was  indicted  and  tried 
(with  Tom  Steele  and  Barrett,  of  77<e  Pilot  news- 
paper) for  holding  political  meetings  which  the  Vice- 
roy's proclamation  had  forbidden.  They  pleaded 
guilty,  but  as  the  law  under  which  they  were  tried 
was  allowed  to  expire  before  they  were  brought  up 
for  judgment,  his  prophecy,  that  the  law  could  not 
reach  him,  was  fulfilled.  In  1843  he  was  less  for- 
tunate. Three  months  in  prison ! — thai  destroyed  the 
prestige. 

This  man  was  eminently  endowed  by  nature  with 
the  bodily  and  mental  qualifications  for  a  Tribune 
of  the  People.  In  stature  he  was  lofty,  in  figuie 
large.  His  bold,  good-natured  face  was  an  advan- 
tage— as  were  his  manly  appearance  and  bearing. 
His  voice  was  deep,  musical,  sonorous  and  manage- 
able. Its  transitions  from  the  higher  to  the  lower 
notes  was  wondrou.sly  effective.  No  man  had  a  clear- 
er or  more  distinct  pronunciation — at  times,  it  even 
went  to  the  extent  of  almost  syllabizing  long  words. 
How  lingcringly,  as  if  he  loved  to  utter  the  woi'ds, 
would  he  speak  of  "  Cawtholic  E-man-cec-pa-tion  !'' 
He  rather  affected  a  full  Irish  accent,  on  which  was 
slightly  grafted  something  of  the  Foigardism  which, 
in  his  youth,  had  attached  itself  to  him  when  he 
st  idled  in  France.  No  one  who  noticed  his  capa- 
cious chest  could  wonder  that  O'Connell  was  able  to 


388  BITS   OF  BLARXEY, 

speak  longer  than  most  men  without  pausing  to  take 
breath.  When  making  a  speech,  his  mouth  was  very- 
expressive  ;  and  this  has  been  noticed  as  the  charac- 
teristic of  that  feature,  in  Irish  faces.  In  his  eyes 
(of  a  cold,  clear  blue)  there  was  little  speculation, 
but  the  true  Irish  expression  of  feeling,  passion  and 
intellect  played  about  his  lips.  Looking  at  him,  as 
he  spoke,  a  close  observer  might  almost  note  the  sen- 
timent about  to  come  from  those  lips,  before  the 
words  had  utterance — -just  as  we  see  the  lightning- 
flash  before  we  hear  the  thunder-peal. 

His  eloquence  was  eminently  characteristic.  Irish- 
men, in  general,  have  "the  gift  of  the  gab," — that 
is,  the  power  of  expressing  their  sentiments  in  pub- 
lic with  ease  to  themselves  and  to  their  hearers.  It 
^ves  them  little  trouble  to  make  a  speech  ;  and  this 
faculty  and  this  facility  arise,  very  probably,  from 
the  political  circumstances  of  their  country  as  much 
as  from  anything  else.  In  England  there  is  no 
necessity  why  a  man  should  have  decided  political 
opinions.  In  Ireland  no  man  dare  be  neutral. 
Persons  may  disagree,  and  do ;  but  they  unite  in 
despising  and  condemning  the  unhappy  wiglit  who 
does  not  belong  to  any  party.  An  Irishman,  in 
Ireland,  must  be  a  partisan.  Being  so,  there  is  no 
earthly  reason  why,  attending  any  public  meeting, 
he  should  not  be  induced  to  take  part  in  the  pro- 
ceeding.^ and  make  a  speech.  Oratory  is  a  very 
■catching  thing, — listening  begets  the  desire  to  be 


l)ANiEL   O'CONNELL. 

listened  to,  in  turn ;  and,  once  that  a  man  has  heard 
his  own  voice  in  public,  depend  on  it  he  will  be 
anxious  to  hear  it  again. 

Self-possession,  which  is  "half  the  battle"  in  pub- 
lic life,  is  an  essential  in  public  speaking.  However, 
it  is  not  the  essential.  There  must  be  a  copious  flow 
of  words — a  happy  and  rapid  selection  of  language 
— an  earnestness  of  manner — a  knowledge  of  hu- 
man character — and,  above  all,  a  considerable  de- 
gree of  information,  with  a  certain  portion  of  the 
"  imagination  all  compact,"  which  breathes  fervour 
and  poetry  into  the  spoken  speech.  Great  is  the 
orator's  power.  He  can  touch  the  human  heart — he 
can  move  the  secret  springs  of  action — he  can  sway 
the  popular  will  as  he  pleases — he  can  comfort  the 
afflicted,  infuse  hope  into  the  oppressed,  alarm  the 
oppressor,  and  make  ill-directed  Power  and  Might 
tremble  on  their  lofty  thrones. 

Ireland  has  been  particularly  profuse  in  her  con- 
tribution of  eminent  orators.  Burke,  Canning, 
Plunket,  Grattan,  Shell,  Wellesley  and  Curran,  stand 
pre-eminent  on  the  roll ;  but  I  doubt  whether 
O'Oonnell,  when  the  length  of  his  reign  is  consider- 
ed, as  well  as  the  great  extent  of  his  influence,  de- 
rived chiefly  from  his  power  as  a  speaker,  was  not 
greater  than  any  of  these  great  orators.  He  had  less 
wit  than  Canning — ^less  imagination  than  Curran — 
less  philosophy  than  Burke — less  rhetoric  than 
Slieil — less  pure  eloquence  than  Plunket — less  clas- 


390  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

sical  expression  than  Welleslej — less  pathos  than 
Grattan ;  but  he  liad  more  power  than  any  of  them. 
There  was  wonderful  force  in  his  language.  And 
when  addressing  an  Irish  audience,  there  was  such 
an  alternation  of  style — now  rising  to  the  loftiest, 
and  now  subsiding  to  the  most  familiar — tliat  he 
carried  all  hearts  with  him,  and  those  who  listened 
seemed  as  if  under  the  spell  of  an  enchanter,  so  com 
pletely  did  he  move  them  as  he  pleased.  Judging  l)y 
their  effect^  O'Connell's  speeches  must  be  considered 
as  among  the  best,  if  not  the  very  best,  of  the  time 
and  country. 

O'Connell's  versatility  as  a  speaker  was  wonder- 
ful. He  was  "  all  things  to  all  men."  In  a  Court  of 
Law  he  would  often  joke  a  jury  into  liLs  view  of  the 
case,  and  when  this  did  not  succeed,  would  con- 
vince them  by  subtle  argument,  bold  declamation, 
and  a  natural  eloquence.  At  a  political  meeting, 
where  he  had  to  address  a  multitude,  they  Avould 
alternately  smile  or  get  enraged,  as  he  jested  Avith 
or  excited  their  feelings.  In  Parliament,  which  he 
did  not  enter  until  he  was  fifty-four  years  old,  he 
generally  was  more  calm,  more  careful,  more  sudued, 
more  solicitous  in  his  choice  of  words,  and  more  vig- 
ilant in  restraining  the  manner  of  delivering  them. 

The  great  secret  of,  his  power,  as  a  speaker,  Avas 
his  earnestness.  He  ever  had  a  great  object  in  vicAV, 
and  he  always  applied  himself,  with  a  strong  and 
earnest  mind,  to  achieve  that  object.     Whenever  he 


DAKIEL   0'C02sXELL.  891 

pleased,  he  -could  rise  to  the  greatest  height  of  elo- 
quence; but  he  prefeiTed,  when  speaking  to  the 
people,  to  use  language  which  each  of  them  could 
understand.  He  varied  his  speeches,  too,  with  badi 
nage  and  jokes,  which,  though  merely  humourous, 
made  his  audience  smile,  and  keep  them  in  good 
temper  with  each  other,  with  themselves,  and  with 
him.  The  Irish,  who  thronged  to  listen  to  him, 
went  to  be  amused  as  well  as  to  be  harangued.  Nor 
did  he  disappoint  them.  I  may  illustrate  what  I 
mean  by  giving  an  example  of  one  of  his  familiar 
illustrations. 

In  1827,  during  the  time  of  what  was  called  "  The 
New  Eeformation,"  in  Ireland,  O'Connell  made  a 
speech  at  the  South  Chapel,  in  Cork.  It  contained 
the  following  passage,  after  a  very  elaborate  denial 
of  the  assumed  conversions  which  the  "  New  Se- 
formation"  gentry  had  boasted  of: — "They  remind 
me,  gentlemen,  of  a  Frenchman  who  waited  on  Lord 
Kenmare,  and  offered  to  drain  the  lakes  of  Killarney, 
which  would  restore  a  great  quantity  of  arable  land. 
Lord  Kenmare  happened  to  think  that  he  had  land 
enough,  and  civilly  declined  having  his  property  de- 
prived of  the  beautiful  lakes,  its  proudest  ornament. 
The  Frenchman,  however,  being  one  of  those  who 

*Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blnsb  to  find  It  f«me,' 

persisted  in  his  fancy,  and  accordingly  rose  at  break 
of  day  to  drain  the  lake.     And,  boys,  how  do  you 


392  BITS   OF  BLARNEY. 

think  lie  was  doing  it?  Why,  he  was  baling  it 
out  with  his  hat!  (Great  laughter.)  Now,  there 
are  sevea  millions  of  Catholics  in  Ireland — the  New 
Reformation  folk  do  not  boast  of  more  than  six  or 
seven  conversions,  or  perversions,  in  the  week — so 
that,  allowing  (which  is  impossible,  where  there  are 
bright  eyes  and  warm  hearts  such  as  flash  and  throb 
around  me,  in  this  large  assembly)  that  the  Catho- 
lics of  Ireland  will  not  increase  in  the  meantime, 
there  must,  at  this  rate,  be  a  million  of  weeks  elapse 
before  all  of  them  are  drained  out  by  conversion. 
(Cheers.)  Boys,  these  Reformation  gentry  remind 
me  mightily  of  the  Frenchman  baling  out  the  Lake 
of  Killarney  with  his  hat!" 

It  was  with  pleasant,  homely  jokes  like  this — yet 
each  having  a  tendency  to  work  out  the  argument — 
that  O'Connell  was  wont  to  amuse  the  Irish.  In  point 
of  wit,  I  doubt  whether  O'Connell's  little  Frenchman 
be  not  as  original  a  character  as  Sydney  Smith's  far- 
famed  Mrs.  Partington. 

O'Connell's  friends  lamented,  and  with  ample 
cause,  at  his  aptness  to  abuse  the  license  of  public 
speech.  He  was  very  fond  of  bestowing  nicknames 
on  his  opponents,  and  of  applying  offensive  epithets 
to  them.*     As  early  as  July,  1808,  at  a  meeting  of 

*  O'Connell  had  high  judicial  authority  for  the  use  of  bad 
language.  Sir  Archibald  Macdonald  (who  was  Chief  Baron 
of  the  English  Court  of  Exchequer,  from  1793  to  1813)  once 
told  Mr.  Fletcher  Norton,  afterwards  Speaker  of  the  House  oi 


MXIEL   O'CONNELL.  89$ 

the  famous  Catliolic  Board,  lie  liad  commenced  that 
sort  of  speal"  ing — which  lowers  him  who  adopts  it 
rather  than  those  against  whom  it  is  levelled.  He 
then  said  "  the  present  administration  are  the  per- 
sonal enemies  of  the  Catholic  cause  ;  yet  if  the 
Catholics  continue  loyal,  firm,  and  undivided,  they 
have  httle  to  fear  from  the  barren  petulence  of  the 
ex-advocate,  Percival,  or  the  frothy  declamations  of 
the  poetaster.  Canning — they  might  with  equal  con- 
tempt despise  the  upstart  pride  of  the  Jenkinsons, 
and  with  more  than  contempt  the  pompous  inanity  of 
that  Lord  Castlereagh,  who  might  well  be  permitted 
to  hate  the  country  that  gave  liim  birth,  to  her  own 
annih.ilation."  In  the  same  vulgar  spirit  he  spoke  of 
Cobbett  as  "a  comical  miscreant,"  and  declared  that 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  "a  stunted  corporal," 
and  maintained  that  Disraeli,  whose  Jewish  descent 
is  well  known,  must  be  a  lineal  descendant  of  the 
impenitent  thief  who  was  crucified,  when  the  great 
sacrifice  of  Salvation  was  consummated  at  Calvar3^ 
Once  only,  as  far  as  my  memory  serves,  O'Con- 
nell  gave  a  nickname,  with  point  and  wit  in  the 
application.  He  was  denouncing  the  present  Earl 
of  Derby,  who  was  then  a  member  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  filled  the  office  of  Chief  Secretary  of 
Ireland.     In  some  way  Stanley  had  taken  official 

Commons,  that  be  was  a  ••  lazy,  indolent,  evasive,  shufiBing, 
plausible,  artful,  mean,  confident,  cowardly,  poor,  pitiful,  sneak- 
ing, and  abject  creature." 

17* 


394  BITS   OF   BLARNEY 

notice  of  tlie  "sayings  and  doings''  of  O'Connell, 
whereupon  the  Agitator  declared  that,  from  that 
time,  he  must  be  called  "Shave-beggar  Stanley." 
Amid  roars  of  laughter  (for  this  Avas  at  a  public 
meeting  in  Dublin),  O'Connell  proceeded  to  justify 
the  nom  de  guerre.  It  was  the  custom,  he  said,  that 
barbers'  apprentices  should  learn  their  business  by 
shaving  beggars,  who,  as  the  job  was  done  for  no- 
thing, could  scarcely  complain  if  a  blunt  razor  gave 
them  pain,  or  an  unskilful  hand  cut  the  skin,  as 
well  as  the  beard.  So,  he  added,  with  British 
statesmen.  They  were  first  sent  over  to  Ireland,  to 
get  their  hand  in,  and  when  that  svas  accomplished 
they  were  considered  to  have  sufficient  dexterity  to 
be  placed  in  office  in  England.  He  argued,  by 
analogy,  that  the  political,  like  the  actual  "shave- 
beggar,"  gave  a  good  deal  of  pain,  and  inflicted 
many  cuts,  which  the  Irish,  like  the  pauper  shave- 
lings, were  compelled  to  submit  to,  without  complaint. 
From  that  day  until  the  day  he  left  Ireland,  Lord 
Stanley  was  always  spoken  of,  by  the  Irish  Liberals, 
with  the  prefix  of  "  shave-beggar"  to  his  surname  I 

Two  things,  through  life,  O'Connell  strenuously  af- 
firmed and  inculcated.  First,  that  the  man  who  com- 
mitted outrage  supplied  the  enemy  with  a  weapon  to  be 
used  against  the  country.  Second,  that  Ireland  would 
never  be  prosperous  until  the  Union  was  repealed. 

He  did  not  join  the  United  Irishmen  in  1798, — 
not  because  he,  like  them,  had  not  an  aspiration  for 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  S9o 

the  political  independence 'of  liis  country,  uut  be- 
cause he  disapproved  of  their  mode  of  striving  for  it. 
by  force.  From  first  to  last  he  was  opposed  to  vio- 
lence. The  "Young  Ireland"  schism,  at  ConcOia- 
tion  Hall,  which  so  much  annoyed  him,  during  the 
last  eighteen  months  of  his  career,  was  caused  by 
his  resistance  to  the  doctrine  of  "physical  force." 

As  to  the  Union  —  it  is  only  just  to  say,  that 
O'Conriell's  first  public  effort  was  against  that  meas- 
ure. His  maiden  speech,  delivered  on  January 
13th,  1800,  at  a  Catholic  meeting,  in  Dublin,  un- 
equivocally condemned  the  Union.  The  Eesolutions 
adopted  by  the  meeting,  drawn  up  by  O'Connell, 
declared  the  proposed  incorporate  Union  to  be,  "in 
fact,  an  extinction  of  the  liberty  of  Ireland,  which 
would  be  reduced  to  the  abject  condition  of  a  prov- 
ince, surrendered  to  the  mercy  of  the  Minister  and 
Legislature  of  another  country,  to  be  bound  by  their 
absolute  will,  and  taxed  at  their  pleasure  by  laws, 
in  the  making  of  which  Ireland  would  have  no  effi- 
cient participation  whatever!"  During  the  struggle 
for  Emancipation,  as  well  as  from  that  era  until  his 
death,  O'Connell  always  declared  that  he  would  not 
be  satisfied  with  less  than  "  the  Repeal."  He  never 
cushioned,  never  concealed  that  such  was  his  object. 
""  mention  this,  because  it  has  been  said  that,  "hav- 
mg  got  Emancipation,  he  ought  not  to  have  gone 
for  Repeal."  As  a  matter  o^  policy,  perhaps,  Ireland 
would  now  be  better  off  if  the  Repeal  agitation  had 


396  BITS   OF   BLARXEY. 

not  taken  place;  but  it 'is  indisputable  that  from 
1800  to  1846,  O'Connell  declared  that  lie  would  not 
be  satisfied  with  less  than  "  the  Eepeal." 

Here  it  may  be  well  to  notice  the  questio  vexata  of 
the  famous  "  O'Connell  Rent."  The  amount  has  not 
been  exactly  ascertained,  but  it  is  believed  to  have  va- 
ried from  10,000/.  to  20,000?.  a  year.  It  commenced 
after  Emancipation  was  granted,  and  was  continued 
until  1846,  when,  from  the  pressing  wants  of  the 
Irish,  it  was  announced  that  Mr.  O'Connell  wished 
it  to  be  discontinued  until  they  could  better  aflbrd 
to  pay  it.  Here  it  may  be  best  to  give  Mr.  O'Con- 
nell's  own  apology,  in  a  letter  to  Lord  Shrewsbury, 
in  1842.  He  said,  "  I  will  not  consent  that  my  claim 
to  'the  Rent'  should  be  misunderstood.  That  claim 
may  be  rejected,  but  it  is  understood  in  Ireland. 
My  claim  is  this : — For  more  than  twenty  years  be- 
fore Emancipation,  the  burthen  of  the  cause  was 
thrown  upon  me.  I  had  to  arrange  the  meetings — 
to  prepare  the  resolutions — to  furnish  replies  to  the 
correspondence — to  examine  the  case  of  each  person 
complaining  of  practical  grievances — to  rouse  the 
torpid — to  animate  the  lukewarm — to  control  the 
violent  and  inflammatory — to  avoid  the  shoals  and 
breakers  of  the  law — to  guard  against  multiplied 
treachery — and  at  all  times  to  oppose,  at  every  peril, 
the  powerful  and  multitudinous  enemies  of  the  cause. 
To  descend  to  particulars  :  At  a  period  whqn  my 
minutes  counted  by  the  guinea — when  my  emolu- 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  ?J97 

ments  were  limited  only  by  the  extent  of  my  phys 
ical  and  waking  powers  —  when  my  meals  were 
shortened  to  the  narrowest  space,  and  my  sleep  re- 
stricted to  the  earliest  hours  before  dawn ;  at  that 
period,  and  for  more  than  twenty  years,  there  was 
no  day  that  I  did  not  devote  from  one  to  two  hours 
(often  more)  to  the  working  out  of  the  Catholic 
cause ;  and  that  without  receiving,  or  allowing  the 
offer  of  a  ly  remuneration,  even  for  the  personal  ex- 
penditure incurred  in  the  agitation  of  the  cause 
itself.  For  years  1  bore  the  entire  expenses  of  a 
Catholic  agitation,  without  receiving  the  contribu- 
tions of  others  to  a  greater  amount  than  seventy-four 
pounds  in  the  whole.  Who  shall  repay  me  for  the 
years  of  my  buoyant  youth  and  cheerful  manhood? 
Who  shall  repay  me  for  the  lost  opportunities  of 
acquiring  professional  celebrity ;  or  for  the  wealth 
which  such  distinction  would  ensure?" 

There  is  considerable  force  in  this.  But  O'Con- 
nell's  character,  out  of  Ireland,  would  have  stood 
higher,  had  he  not  received  "the  Kent."  It  was 
often  alleged,  by  his  adherents,  as  a  set-off,  that 
Grattan  had  also  been  remunerated  by  his  country- 
men. But  the  cases  were  not  parallel.  In  1782, 
Grattan,  almost  single-handed,  had  achieved  the 
Independence  of  Ireland,  by  obtaining  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  principle  that  "the  Crown  of  England  is 
an  Imperial  Crown,  but  that  Ireland  is  a  distinct 
Kingdom,  with  a  Parliament  of  her  own,  the  sole 


?98  BirS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Legislature  thereof."  He  had  accomplished  a  blood* 
less  Eevolution.  He  had  thrown  himself  into  po- 
litical life,  abandoning  the  profession  on  which  rested 
nearly  his  whole  worldly  dependence.  A  grant  of 
£100,000  was  proposed  to  him  in  the  Irish  Parlia- 
ment, "  to  purchase  an  estate,  and  build  a  suitable 
mansion,  as  the  reward  of  gratitude  by  the  Irish 
nation,  for  his  eminent  services  to  his  country." 
It  was  intended  as  a  mark  of  national  gratitude  to  a 
nation's  Liberator.  So  unanimous  was  the  feeling 
that,  on  the  part  of  the  Viceroy,  a  member  of  the 
Government  offered  "  as  part  of  the  intended  grant 
to  Mr.  Grattan,  the  Viceregal  Palace  in  the  Phoenix 
Park  [Dublin],  to  be  settbd  on  Mr.  Grattan  and  his 
heirs  for  ever,  as  a  suitable  residence  for  so  merito- 
rious a  person."  Grattan's  own  impulse  was  to  re- 
fuse the  grant.  His  services  had  been  rendered 
without  expectation  or  de.-ire  of  reward.  But  hLs 
private  fortune  was  so  inadequate  to  his  public  po- 
sition that  he  must  retire  from  politics  or  become  a 
placeman  under  the  Crown.  The  grant  would  give 
him  an  independent  position.  He  consented  to  ac- 
cept half  of  the  proffered  amount  (£50,000),  and 
determined  under  no  circumstances  to  take  office. 
He  was,  ever  after,  the  retained  servant  of  the  na- 
tion. Yet,  high  as  he  stood,  he  did  not  escape  con- 
tumely. Even  Henry  Flood,  his  rival,  publicly 
said,  in  a  Parliamentary  controversy,  "  I  am  not  a 
mendicant  patriot,  who  was  bought  by  my  country 


DANIEL   O'COXXELL.  399 

for  a  sum  of  mjney,  aud  then  sold  my  country  to 
the  Minister  for  prompt  payment." 

O'Connell's  "Kent"  was  estimated  as  yielding 
from  £10,000  to  £20,000  a  year — thrice  the  amount, 
probably,  that  he  could  have  realized  at  the  bar,  had 
he  not  devoted  his  time  to  politics.  It  was  duly  paid 
for  nearly  twenty  years.  Thus  O'Connell  received, 
in  this  annuity  from  his  party,  about  five  times  as 
much  as  the  Irish  Parliament  had  given  to  Grattan. 
Besides,  since  1825,  when  Derrynane  became  his  by 
the  death  of  his  uncle,  O'Conueirs  landed  property 
was  not  less  than  £4,000  a  year.  The  most  potent 
objection  to  "the  Rent"  was  that,  collected  year 
after  year,  it  rendered  its  recipient  liable  to  the  im- 
putation of  keeping  up  Agitation  in  order  to  col- 
lect the  Rent. 

When  O'Connell's  uncle  died,  in  1825,  at  a  Very 
advanced  age,  (he  was  several  years  past  ninety,). the 
news  reached  O'Connell  when  he  was  on  circuit,  at 
Limerick.  He  hastened  to  Kerrj^,  to  attend  the 
funeral,  and  did  not  again  appear  in  court  until  the 
trials  were  proceeding  in  Cork.  I  had  taken  my  seat, 
as  a  reporter,  on  the  very  day  he  made  his  appear- 
ance, attired  in  full  mourning.  Setting  immediately 
under  him,  I  heard  one  of  the  counsel  congratulate 
him  on  his  accession  to  his  uncle's  large  estate.  "  I 
had  to  wait  for  it  a  long  time,"  said  O'Connell.  "  If 
this  had  happened  twenty  years  ago,  what  would  I 
now  have  been  ?     A  hard-living,  sporting,  country 


400  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

gentleman,  content  with  my  lot.  As  it  is,  I  have 
had  to  struggle,  I  have  succeeded ;  and  look  how 
bright  are  now  the  prospects  of  Ireland !  I  thank 
God  that  I  had  to  struggle,  since  it  has  placed  them 
as  the  J  are  no\\ ." 

To  sum  up  the  character  of  O'Connell's  political^ 
e-ssentiallj  different  from  his  forensic,  eloquence,  I 
need  not  say  more  than  that  he  put  strong  words 
into  fitting  places.  No  man  had  a  greater  or  more 
felicitous  command  of  language ;  no  man  cared  less 
how  his  words  were  marshalled.  Many  of  his 
speeches  are  models  of  the  truest  eloquence,  and 
perhaps  he  was  the  first  Irishman,  of  modern  days, 
who  made  a  decided  hit  in  the  Commons,  as  a  sound 
and  eloquent  speaker,  entering  that  House  at  the 
mature  age  of  fifty.  Powers  such  as  his  commanded 
attention  ;— but,  in  general,  he  spoke  better  in  Ireland, 
among  his  own  people,  than  in  England.  Yet  who 
can  forget  his  magnificent  oration  in  favour  of  the 
Reform  Bill  ?  Who  can  forget  the  later,  aud  briefer, 
but  not  less  stirring  speech,  which  he  delivered,  as  a 
member  of  the  Anti- Corn  law  League,  on  his  first 
visit  to  London,  after  the  reversal  of  the  Monster- 
Meetings'  sentence  of  imprisonment. 

In  sarcasm  O'Connell  was  unequalled.  I  shall 
give  an  instance  of  quiet  sarcasm  which  I  think  in- 
imitable. In  his  domestic  relations  O'Connell  was 
peculiarly  happy.  His  mamage  with  his  cousin 
Mary,  was  one  of  pure  affection  on  both  sides,  and 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  iOl 

their  love  continued  to  the  last,  as  warm  as  it  had 
commenced  in  their  youthful  days.*  Johu  O'Con- 
nell,  in  1846,  writing  of  his  mother,  who  was  not 
long  dead,  said,  with  as  much  beauty  as  truth,  "  We 
can  say  no  more  than  that  doubting,  she  coniirmed 
him — desponding,  she  cheered  him  on — drooping, 
she  sustained  him — her  pure  spirit  may  have  often 
trembled,  indeed,  as  she  beheld  him  exposed  to  a 
thousand  assaults,  and  affronting  a  thousand  dan- 
gers ;  but  she  quailed  not,  she  called  him  not  back. 
She  rejoiced  not  more  in  his  victories  over  them, 
than  she  would  have  heartily  and  devotedly  shared 

*  In  1802,  O'Conuell  married  his  cousin,  the  daughter  of  Dr. 
O'Connell,  of  Tralee.  By  this  lady  he  had  four  sons  and  three 
daughters.  Two  of  the  sons  are  now  [18551  in  Parliament. 
Maurice,  the  eldest,  was  a  barrister,  but  never  distinguished  him- 
self either  as  a  lawyer  or  a  politician.  Morgan  was  for  some 
time  in  the  Austrian  service,  and  distinguished  himself  as  a  gal- 
lant ofiBcer,  His  "  affair  of  honour  "  with  Lord  Alvanley  showed, 
cool  determination  and  honourable  feeling.  Mr.  Johu  O'Con- 
nell, who  tried  to  take  his  father  s  place  in  Conciliation  Hall,  as 
Repeal  Leader,  has  displayed  little  of  the  talent  and  tact  which 
distinguished  the  Liberator.  The  youngest  son,  Daniel,  is  a  very 
commonplace  person.  It  is  usually  said,  that  the  children  of 
a  great  man  rarely  arrive  at  eminence,  and  the  limited  talents  of 
O'Connell's  sons  keep  np  the  proverb  in  full  force,  as  far  as  he 
and  they  are  concerned  : 


'Few  men  achieve  the  praise  of  their  great  sirM^ 
Sat  most  their  sires  disgrace." 


402  BITS   OF   BLAKXET. 

with  and  soothed  him  in  the  sufiering.^,  in  the  ruin, 
that  might  have  come  upon  him  had  he  failed  and 
been  overthrown,"  On  the  other  hand,  the  Marquis 
of  Anglesey,  in  1831,  as  Viceroy  of  Ireland,  had 
O'Connell  prosecuted  for  an  imputed  breach  of  the 
law.  The  Marquis  had  seduced  the  first  wife  of  the  late 
Lord  Cowley,  and  married  her  after  he  was  divorced 
from  his  wife,  and  Lady  Cowley  (then  Mrs.  Henry 
Wellesley)  from  her  husband.  O'Connell,  com- 
menting, at  a  public  meeting  in  Dublin,  on  Lord 
Anglesey's  conduct  to  him  said,  "  This  prosecution 
ha^  cost  my  wife  what  none  of  my  transactions  ever 
cost  her — z.  tear  for  me.  Does  Lord  Anglesey  know 
the  value  of  a  virtuous  woman's  tear?" 

O'Connell's  attempts  at  authorship  were  not  very 
successful.  His  letters  to  the  "  Hereditary  bonds- 
men" were  diffuse  and  declamatory.  They  were 
full  of  repetitions,  putting  the  points  of  a  case  in  a 
variety  of  phases,  but  they  were  by  no  means  equal 
to  the  force,  power,  and  nervous  eloquence  of  his 
speeches.  He  was  eminently  an  extemporaneous 
speaker,  and,  like  Fox,  appeared  to  more  advantage 
as  an  orator  than  a  writer.  Yet  many  of  his  letters 
contain  true  eloquence.  He  hit  hard,  and  could  be 
terse  when  he  pleased.  Who  can  forget  the  allitera- 
tive satire  of  the  three  Avords  "base,  bloody,  and 
brutal,"  as  applied  to  the  Whigs  ? 

His  only  substantive  and  independent  work  was 


DANIEL   O' CONN  ELL.  403 

Vol.  I.  of  "  A  Memoir  on  Ireland,  Native  and  Sax- 
on," published  early  in  1843.  This  book  was  dedi- 
cated to  the  Queen,  in  order,  as  the  Preface  stated, 
"that  the  Sovereign  of  these  realms  should  under- 
stand the  real  nature  of  Irish  history ;  should  be 
aware  of  how  much  the  Irish  have  sufiered  from 
English  misrule ;  should  comprehend  the  secret 
springs  of  Irish  discontent;  should  be  acquainted 
with  the  eminent  virtues  which  the  Irish  have  ex- 
hibited in  every  phasis  of  their  singular  fate ;  and, 
above  all,  should  be  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
confiscations,  the  plunder,  the  robbery,  the  domestic 
treachery,  the  violation  of  all  public  faith,  and  of 
the  servility  of  treaties,  the  ordinar}^  wholesale 
slaughters,  the  planned  murders,  the  concerted 
massacres,  which  have  been  inflicted  upon  the  Irish 
people  by  the  English  Government."  This  one  sen- 
tence will  sufficiently  indicate  the  chai'acter  of  the 
work.  O'Connell  further  stated,  in  his  preface,  that 
"  there  cannot  happen  a  more  heavy  misfortune  to 
Ireland  than  the  prosperity  and  power  of  Great 
Britain."  He  endeavoured  to  justify  this  assertion, 
by  adding  that  "justice  to  Ireland  "  had  never  been 
granted  except  when  Great  Britain  was  in  difficul- 
ties. The  work  brought  the  "  proofs  and  illustra- 
tions "  of  British  misrule  in  Ireland  down  to  the 
Restoration.  A  second  volume  was  to  have  carried 
them  down  to  the  present  period,  but  it  never  was 
published.     Nor  has  Literature  nor   History  sus- 


401  BITS  OF   BLARNEY, 

tain  ed  any  loss, — unless  it  was  much  superior  to  the 
first  volume.  The  seven  opening  chapters,  rapidly 
sketching  the  history  of  EngHsh  dominion  in  Ireland 
from  1172  to  1840,  are  not  devoid  of  a  certain  degree 
of  eloquence,  but  is  anti-English  to  a  degree.  The 
historical  "  proofs  and  illustrations,"  are  simply  state- 
ments from  partisan  writers,  with  connecting  com- 
ments by  O'Connell, 

It  was  as  a  lawyer  that  O'Connell  achieved  his 
first  distinctions.  His  success  at  the  bar  was  assur- 
ance to  his  countrymen  of  his  general  ability.  But, 
of  late  years,  Mr,  O'Connell  was  so  exclusively  before 
the  public  as  a  legislator,  that  he  was  forgotten  as  a 
barrister.  Yet,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  (among  whom 
are  those  who  have  known  him  long  and  well,)  it 
was  in  the  latter  character  that  the  peculiar  idiosyn- 
crasy of  the  man  was  fully  developed — that  his  very 
rare  and  peculiar  talents  were  fully  displayed. 

Many  men  have  obtained  eminence  at  the  Irish 
bai",  but  it  has  been  for  some  one  peculiar  merit. 
Thus,  Harry  Deane  Grady  was  remarkable  for  the 
knowing  manner  in  which  he  conducted  a  cross-ex- 
amination. By  that  he  alternately  wheedled  and 
frightened  a  witness  into  admissions  which  were  as 
opposite  to  his  evidence  in  chief  as  light  is  from 
darkness.  Thus,  Chief  Justice  Bushe,  Avhile  at  the 
bar,  was  distinguished  for  that  classic  eloquence  by 
which  admiring  juries  were  seduced,  and  admiring 
judges  were  delighted.     Pity  that  his  elevation  to 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  405 

the  bench  should  have  extinguished  this  noble  ora- 
tory. Thus,  Curran  was  renowned  for  "  that  sar- 
castic levity  of  tongue "  which  solicited  a  contest 
with  those  elevated  in  rank  above  himself  Thus, 
Shiel  was  remarkable  for  introducing  a  style  of 
speaking — full  of  antithetical  brilliancies — which  re- 
minds us  of  the  flashing  speeches  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished advocates  of  France,  ^riius,  Serjeant 
(now  Judge)  Perrin  was  almost  unrivalled  in  thread- 
ing through  the  intricacies  of  an  excise  case.  Thus, 
George  Bennett  won  fame  by  his  clear  and  plausible 
method  of  stating  a  case.  Thus,  Devonshire  Jack- 
son (now  a  Judge)  was  excellent  in  taking  excep- 
tions to  the  form  of  an  indictment.  Thus,  the  late 
Eecorder  Waggett  (of  Cork)  put  that  seeming  of 
right  into  a  case,  by  which  trusting  jurymen  are  so 
often  deceived.  But  there  was  onl}'  one  man  at  the 
Irish  bar  who,  more  or  less,  united  the  excellencies 
of  all  whom  I  have  named.  He  was  as  good  at 
cross-examination  as  Harry  Grady — he  coald  rise 
with  the  occasion,  and  be  eloquent  as  Bushe — he 
could  sport  the  biting  sarcasm  of  Curran — he  even 
ventured  on  the  antitheses  of  Shiel  (though  lie  sel- 
dom meddled  with  such  sharp-edged  weapons) — he 
was  a  match  for  Perrin  in  the  excise  courts — he. 
could  state  a  case  plainly  and  plausibly  as  Bennett 
— he  was  as  good  a  lawyer  as  Jackson,  and  could 
appeal  to  "  the  reports  "  with  as  much  success — and, 
like  Waggett  (against  whom,  in  the  ^lunster  Courts, 


406  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

he  was  often  pitted),  he  could  show  his  case  to  be 
one  of  the  utmost  seeming  right,  his  client,  lilce  the 
late  Queen,  of  virtuous  memory,  to  be  clear  as  "un- 
sunned snow,"  The  man  who  combined  all  these 
apparently  dissimilar  qualifications — the  man  whom 
universal  consent  named  as  the  best  general  lawyer 
in  Ireland — the  man  to  whom  Orange  clients  inva- 
riably ran  with  their  briefs  (a  confidence  equally 
honourable  to  clients  and  lawyer),  was  O'Connell. 

By  far  the  best  account  of  O'Connell,  in  his  dif- 
ferent phases  as  a  lawyer,  is  that  in  the  "Sketches 
of  the  Irish  Bar."  Its  essence  is  contained  in  the 
little  sentence — ''  Every  requisite  for  a  barrister  of 
all  work  is  combined  in  him  ;  some  in  perfection,  all 
in  sufficiency." 

An  anonymous  writer  in  an  English  paper  has 
given  this  reminiscence  of  O'Connell :  "  I  recollect  at 
the  spring  assizes  of  I  think  it  was  '27,  walking  into 
the  county  court-house  of  Limerick.  O'Connell  was 
retained  in  a  record  then  being  heard,  and  with  him 
on  the  same  side  was  his  son  Maurice,  who  was 
bred  to  his  father's  profession,  though  he  has  since 
ceased  to  follow  it.  It  was  a  cold  day,  and  both 
wore  huge  cloth  cloaks :  the  Agitator's  right  arm 
was  thrown  very  affectionately  round  his  son's 
neck,  who,  seemingly  used  to  these  public  exhibi- 
tions of  paternal  fondness,  took  it  very  composedly. 
There  was  a  rough-and-ready  looking  peasant  at  the 
moment  under  examination :  in  lieu  of  the  ordinary 


DANIEL   O'CONNKLL.  407 

box  used  in  most  English  courts,  he  was  seated  in  a 
chair  in  the  centre  of  the  table  between  the  fires  of 
the  counsel  on  either  side  ;  his  shaggy  hair  and  un- 
shorn beard,  his  shirt  collar  open,  the  knees  of  his 
small  clothes  in  the  same  free  and  easy  state,  and 
one  stocking  fallen  so  as  to  leave  a  portion  of  his 
embrowned  and  hirsute  leg  bare ;  he  had  the  chair 
partially  turned  round,  so  as  to  present  a  three- 
quarter  front  to  O'Connell,  who  was  ralcing  him 
with  a  cross-examination,  which  elicited  laughter 
from  every  person  in  the  court,  including  the  wit- 
ness himself,  who,  with  his  native  freedom,  impu- 
dence, and  humour,  was  almost  a  match  for  the 
Agitator.  The  Agitator's  face  was  beaming  with 
fun,  and  he  seemed  very  well  disposed  to  show  off, 
as  if  conscious  that  his  auditors  expected  something 
from  him.  The  country  fellow,  too,  appeared  to 
think  there  were  laurels  to  be  earned  in  the  en- 
counter, for  he  played  away  with  all  his  might,  and 
though  he  faded  repeatedly  in  his  attempts  to  be 
witty,  he  was  always  sure  to  be  impudent.  He 
waxed  gradually  more  familiar,  until  at  length  he 
called  the  learned  counsel  nothing  but  '  Dan ; '  it 
was,  'Yes,  Dan,'  or  'No,  Dan,'  or  '  Arrah, 
you're  not  going  to  come  over  me  so  easily,  Dan.' 
Dan,  to  do  him  justice,  enjoyed  the  joke,  and  hu- 
moured the  witness  in  such  a  manner  as  at  length  to 
throw  the  fellow  off  his  guard,  and  lead  him  into  a 
maze  of  contradictions  notwithstanding  his  shrewd- 


408  BITS   OF    BLARNEr. 

ness,  O'Coniiell  showed  the  utmost  adroitness,  and 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  Irish  peasant  charac- 
ter, which  is  perhaps  in  no  place  so  well  acquired 
as  in  a  provincial  court.  I  cannot  this  moment  re- 
collect any  single  repartee  which  is  worth  repeating, 
but  it  was  the  manner,  the  brogue,  the  laughing 
eye,  the  general  and  humourous  tone  of  the  whole 
examination,  and  perhaps  the  very  spectacle  of 
O'Connell  himself  trying  legally  to  entrap  and  upset 
the  veracity  of  one  of  his  own  "fine  peasantry," 
which  gave  that  peculiar  interest  and  pleasantry  to 
the  scene.  Nothing  could  surpass  the  seeming  en- 
joyment which  the  country  people  took  in  the  ex- 
amination ;  and  as  the  Agitator  would  throw  off 
now  and  again  one  of  his  broad  flashes  of  humour 
in  the  "keen  encounter  of  their  wits,"  and  the  wit- 
ness would  fire  back  some  jocular  effort  at  equivo- 
cation, you'd  hear  buzzed  around,  'Bravo,  Dan,' 
'  Dan's  the  boy,'  or  some  such  phrase  of  approbation, 
which  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  suppress. 
Blackburn,*  then,  I  think,  the  Attorney-General, 
was  on  the  bench,  having  taken  the  circuit  for  some 
judge  who  was  unwell ;  and  though  a  dark  and  stern 
man,  he  was  compelled  to  give  way  to  the  general  fit 
of  pleasantry  in  which  the  whole  court  indulged." 
O'Connell's  business,  on  circuit  as  well  as  in  the 

*  Afterwards  Chiet-Justice  of  the  Queen's  Bench,  whence,  in 
1852,  he  was  raised  to  the  Chancellorship  of  Ireland,  which  he 
retained  during  the  nine  months  of  the  Derby  Administration. 


Daniel  o'connell.  409 

Four  Courts  of  Dublin,  -vvas  very  great.  On  circuit, 
it  was  so  overpowering  that,  except  on  very  im- 
portant cases,  he  could  not  read  his  briefs,  when  em- 
ployed ta  defend  prisoners.  The  attorney  for  the 
defence  used  to  f^ondense  the  leading  facts,  and  set 
them  down  on  a  single  sheet  of  foolscap ;  and  O'Con- 
nell  would  peruse  and  master  this  abstract  during 
the  speech  of  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  relying 
on  his  own  skill  in  cross-examination  of  witnesses, 
and  his  own  power  with  the  jury.  Like  Belial,  he 
"  could  make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason,"  as 
many  an  acquitted  culprit  had  cause  to  know  and 
thank  him  for. 

Let  me  close  this  sketch  with  a  glance  of  O'Con- 
nell,  as  I  have  often  seen  him,  in  an  Lrish  Court  of 
Law.  There  he  was  to  be  met  "  in  all  his  gloiy." 
As  I  write,  the  shadows  of  long  years  roll  away, 
and  every  thing  appears  as  vivid  and  life-like  as  it 
was  at  that  time. 

To  have  seen  O'Connell  in  the  Law  Courts  of 
Dublin,  was  to  have  seen  him  not  exactly  as  him- 
self. Before  the  judges,  and  in  the  capital  of  the 
kingdom,  a  certain  etiquette  is  preserved,  very  deco- 
rous and  proper,  no  doubt,  but  very  chilling  also. 
It  is  on  circuit  that  you  best  can  see  the  Irish  bar, 
as  they  really  are,  and  it  is  on  circuit,  also,  that  an 
observer  may  ad\  antageously  study  the  character  of 
the  Irish  people.  Leave  the  chilling  atmosphere  of 
the  Four  Courts,  give  the  reins  to  imagination,  and 
18 


4i0  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

sit,  with  me,  in  tlie  Crown  Courts  of  Cork,  as  I  have 
sat  in  byg(jne  years.  To  give  something  like  reality 
to  my  sketch,  I  shall  write  as  if  I  still  were  in  the 
year  1827,  when  O'Connell  and  the  rest  whom  J 
have  to  name  were  al'''e  and  flourishing. 

What  a  difference  between  this  court  and  that  of 
a  circuit  court  in  England !  Look  around  you : — 
there  stands  not  a  single  female  in  the  Irish  court. 
To  attend  there,  with  the  chance  of  having  it  ever 
hinted  that  delicacy  requires  their  absence,  would 
ill  suit  the  modest  precision  of  the  fair  dames  of  Ire- 
land. Nor  do  I  think  that  the  course  of  justice  suf- 
fers from  the  absence  of  the  fair  sex.  What  business 
have  ladies  in  a  court  of  justice?  Do  they  want  in- 
formation as  to  the  trials  ?-^they  can  see  them  re- 
ported in  "  those  best  possible  instructors,"  the  news- 
papers. Do  they  want  to  see  the  manner  in  which 
justice  is  administered? — if  they  will  be  so  curious, 
and  if  that  curiosity  must  be  gratified,  let  them  come 
once  and  no  more.  As  it  is,  the  English  courts 
have  female  °tagers,  who  attend  day  after  day,  and 
listen  to  arguments  which  they  cannot  comprehend. 
I  suspect  that  their  chief  design  is  to  show  off; 
they  come  to  see,  but  they  also  come  *  to  be  seen." 
The  only  preventive  would  be  to  enforce  their  at- 
tendance ;  when,  if  they  be  trae  women,  the  spirit 
of  opposition  wiU  make  them  reinain  at  home ! 

Whatever  be  the  cause,  there  is  a  non-attendance 
of  females  at  the  Irish  courts  of  law.     The  galleries 


DANIEL    OcuNXELL.  41 1 

are  filled  with  rough-coated  and  rough-faced  folks ; 
some,  who  have  not  visited  the  city  sin^e  the  last 
assizes — some,  who  have  relatives  to  be  tried — some, 
out  on  bail,  and  honourably  come  to  take  their  own 
trial — all,  even  to  the  mere  looker-on,  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  proceedings;  for  the  Irish,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest  degree,  are  fond  of  the  forms 
of  justice.  Of  the  reality  they  have  hitherto  got  but 
little ;  but  they  like  to  see  that  httle  administered 
with  the  due  formalities  of  the  law. 

The  judge  enters  the  court,  and  takes  his  seat  on 
the  bench.  You  ask,  with  astonishment,  "  When 
will  the  barristers  come  ?"  Why,  thei-e,  do  you  not  see 
his  lordship  rise,  and  make  an  obeisance  to  the  gen- 
tlemen who  sit  in  the  box  above  us  ?  These  are  the 
barristers.  You  may  seem  as  unbelieving  as  you 
choose,  but  such  is  the  case.  The  fact  i.,  and  I  should 
have  mentioned  it  before,  when  Irish  barristers  go  on 
the  circuit*  they  do  not  burthen  themselves  with  wigs 
or  gowns — forensic  paraphernalia,  to  \\hich  their 
legal  brethren  on  the  English  side  of  the  Channel 
attach  such  infinite  importance,  that  you  might  fancy 
they  thought  all  wit  and  wisdomf  to  be  attached  to 
them.  You  can  scarcely  imagine  a  inore  unformal 
or  unceremonious  court  than  that  to  which  I  have 
introduced  you.     The  attorneys  sit  round  the  table, 

*I  write  of  1827.  I  know  not  what  may  be  the  practice  now. 
f  '•  The  wisdom's  in  the  wig." — Old  Song. 


4l2 


BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 


mingied  with  the  "  gentlemen  of  the  press,"  the  bar* 
risters  are  in  the  boxes  immediately  over  the  attor- 
nies,  and  the  audience  sit  or  stand  where  and  how 
they  can. 

There  is  a  panse — for  a  great  murder  trial  is  to 
come  on — O'Connell  has  just  been  engaged  for  the 
defence — is  occupied  in  the  other  court,  and  the 
judge  must  wait  until  he  can  make  his  appearance. 
During  fhis  pause  you  see  a  familiarity  between  the 
bench  and  the  bar  which  seems  strange  to  your 
English  eyes.  Yet,  after  all,  what  is  it  ?  Will  the 
laws  be  a  whit  less  honestly  administered  or  advo- 
cated because  the  judge  and  one  of  the  lawyers 
(Chief  rJaron  O'Grady  and  Recorder  Waggett)  are 
laugb^'^g  together  ?  Depend  ^n  it,  that,  if  the  op- 
portunity comes,  the  judge  will  fling  out  one  of  his 
bitter  sarcasms  against  the  barrister,  and  I  know 
little  of  the  barrister  if  he  does  not  retort — if  he  cr~i ! 

A  bustle  in  the  court.  Does  O'Connell  come  ? 
No ;  but  a  message  from  him,  with  the  intimation 
that  the  trial  may  go  on,  and  he  will  "  drop  in  "  in 
half  an  hour.  The  clerk  of  the  peace  reads  the  in- 
dictment— -the  murderer  pleads  "  Not  Guilty," 
stands  in  the  dock  with  compressed  lips,  and  burst- 
ing veins,  and  withering  frown,  and  scowling  eyes- — 
a  fit  subject  for  the  savage  pencil  of  Spagnaletto. 

While  the  indictment  is  reading,  a  very  dandified 
"middle-aged  young  gentleman,"  attired  in  a  blue 
coat,  with   enormous  brass  buttons,  a  crimson  silk 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  413 

neckcloth,  and  a  most  glaring  pair  of  buckskins, 
jumps  on  th  ^  table,  makes  way  across  it  with  a 
"hop,  stv.p  and  jump,"  and  locates  himself  in  a  box 
directl}'-  under  the  judge.  You  inquire,  who  is  that 
neophyte  ? — the  answer  is,  Carew  Standish  O'Grady, 
the  registrar*  of  the  circuit,  barrister-at-law,  and 
nephew  to  the  judge.  You  turn  up  your  eyes  in 
wonder  — the  prothonotary  of  an  English  court 
would  scarcely  sport  such  a  fox-hunter's  garb. 

The  trial  commences.  Serjeant  Goold  states  the 
case — advantageously  for  the  prisoner,  for  the  learned 
Serjeant  has  so  defective  an  utterance  that  he  is 
scarcely  audible  even  to  the  reporters  below  him. 
But  his  serjeantcy  gives  hun  that  precedence  at  the 
bar,  on  account  of  which  the  chief  conduct  of  Crown 
prosecutions  devolves  to  him.  Meanwhile  the  Chief 
Baron  turns  to  the  High  Sheriff,  and  cracks  jokes ; 
his  hopeful  nephew,  less  ambitious,  produces  a  bag 
and  some  salt,  and  merely — cracks  nuts. 

The  opening  is  over — the  chief  witness  (probably 
an  approver  or  Kings  evidence)  is  brought  on  the 
table — ^he  is  sworn,  and  attempts  to  baffle  justice  by 
kissing  his  thumb  instead  of  the  book.  There  is  a 
dead  silence  in  the  court ;  for  it  is  felt  that  the  mo- 
ment is  awful  with  the  fate  of  a  fellow-ci'eature. 


*  It  may  be  noticed  that,  ia  New  York,  the  Registrar  is  called 
the  Register — the  name  of  the  book  being  applied  to  the  man 
who  has  tht  office  of  keeping  it. 


414  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Hark !  a  shout  outside, — O'Connell  comes.  He  has 
just  been  successful  for  an  Orangeman  against  a 
Catholic;  but  what  does  that  matter  ?  The  people 
do  justice  to  his  merit ;  so  he  succeeds,  what  care 
thej  against  whom  ? 

Another  pause — a  buzz  in  the  court — "quite  a 
sensation,"  as  a  dandy  might  exquisitely  exclaim — 
the  prisoner's  eyes  brightens  up  with  the  gleam  of 
hope — he  sees  O'Connell,  at  last,  seated  among  the 
barristers.  "What !  is  that  O'Connell  ?  that  stalwart, 
smiling,  honest-looking  man?  The  same.  Never 
did  a  public  man  assume  less  pretension  to  personal 
appearance.  Yet,  if  you  look  closely,  you  may  ob- 
serve that  he  does  anything  but  neglect  the  graces. 
BUs  clothes  are  remarkably  well  made,  the  tie  of  his 
cravat  is  elaborate,  his  handsome  eye-glass  is  so  dis- 
posed that  it  can  be  seen  as  well  as  used,  and  his 
"  Brutus"  (for  't  would  be  heinous  to  utter  the  word 
"  wig")  gives  an  air  of  juvenility  which  his  hilarious 
manners  fully  confirm. 

Until  this  moment  of  his  entering  the  court,  he 
knows  nothing  of  the  case — he  has  not  yet  received 
a  brief.  Mr.  Daltera  (j'ou  will  remember  that  the 
scene  is  in  Cork — ^the  time  1827),  the  lame  attorney, 
hands  him  a  bulky  brief,  (which  he  puts,  unread, 
into  the  bag,)  and  an  abstract  of  the  case,  written  on 
one  sheet  of  paper.  His  blue  eyes  calmly  glance 
over  this  case — ^he  takes  in,  at  that  glance,  all  its 
bearings,  and  he  quietly  listens  to  the  evidence  of 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  415 

the  accomplice  The  cross-examination  commences.- 
Every  eje  is  watcbful — every  ear  on  the  qui  vive — 
every  mau  m  court  stretches  forward  to  see  the  battle 
between  "the  Counsellor"  and  "the  witness."  You 
may  see  the  prisoner  with  an  eager  glance  of  ex- 
pectation— the  witness  with  an  evident  sense  of  the 
coming  crLiv}.  The  battle  commences  with  anything 
but  seriouK-aess  ;  O'Connell  surprises  the  witness  by 
his  good  h'xtnour  and  instantly  sets  him  at  ease.  He 
coaxes  out  of  him  a  full  confession  of  his  own  un- 
w^orthiness, — he  tempts  him,  by  a  series  of  facetious 
questions,  into  an  admission  of  his  "  whole  course 
of  life," — ^in  a  word,  he  draws  frr^m  his  lips  an  auto- 
biography, in  which  the  direst  crimes  are  mingled 
wath  an  occasional  relief  of  feeling  or  of  fun.  The 
witness  seems  to  exult  in  the  "bad  eminence"  on 
which  his  admissions  exalt  him.  He  joins  in  the 
laugh  at  the  quaintness  of  his  language, — he  scarcely 
shrinks  from  the  universal  shudders  at  the  enormity 
of  his  crimes.  By  degrees  he  is  led  to  the  subject 
of  the  evidence  he  has  just  given,  as  an  accom- 
plice,— the  coil  is  wound  round  him  imperceptibly ; 
fact  after  fact  is  weakened,  until,  finally,  such  doubt 
is  thrown  upon  all  that  he  has  said, — from  the  evi- 
dent ^exaggeration  of  part, — that  a  less  ingenious 
advocate  than  O'Connell  might  rescue  the  prisoner 
from  conviction  on  such  evidence.  The  main  wit- 
ness having  "  broken  down,"  (as  much  from  the 
natural  dgubt  and  disgust  excited  in  the  minds  of 


416  BITS  OF  bla;;ni:v. 

an  Irish  jury,  by  the  circumstance  of  u  particeps 
criminis  being  evidence  against  one  who  may  have 
been  more  sinned  against  than  sinning, — who  may 
have  been  seduced  into  the  paths  of  error  by  tlie  very 
man  who  now  bears  testimony  against  liim,)  the  re- 
sult of  the  trial  is  not  very  difficult  to  be  foreseen. 
If  there  is  any  doubt,  the  matter  is  soon  Uiaae  clear 
by  a  few  alibi  witnes-ses — practiced  rogues  with  the 
most  innocent  aspects,  who  swear  anything  or  every 
thing  to  "  get  a  friend  out  of  trouble."  The  chances 
are  ten  to  one  that  O'Connell  brings  off  thv.  prisoner. 
If  Y  T  is  not  acquitted,  he  may,  at  least,  be  only  found 
g  alty  on  the  minor  plea  of  "  manslaughter." 

But  the  chances  are  that  he  Avill  be  acqmtted,  for 
few  juries  ever  resisted  the  influence  of  O'Connell's 
persuasive  eloquence. 

Such  is  the  scene  exhibited  by  one  glance  back- 
ward : — such,  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  was  con- 
stantly occurring  in  the  Irish  courts  of  law  when 
O'Connell  practiced  at  the  bar. 

Even  at  the  risk  of  being  accounted  tedious,  I 
cannot  conclude  this  sketch  without  mentioning 
another  anecdote,  which,  even  better  than  a  length- 
ened disquisition,  may  show  that  I  do  not  overrate 
the  extraordinary  ingenuity  and  quickness  for  which 
I  give  O'Connell  ..uch  ample  credit.  One  of  the 
mo?t.  remarkable  personages  in  Cork,  for  a  series  of 
years,  was  a  sharp-witted  little  fellow  named  John 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  417 

Toyle*  who  published  a  periodical  called  The  Free- 
holder. As  Boyle  did  not  see  that  any  peculiar  dig- 
nity hedged  the  corrupt  Corporation  of  Cork,  his 
Freeholder  was  remarkable  for  severe  and  satirical 
remarks  upon  its  members,  collectively  and  person- 
ally. Owing  to  the  very  great  precautions  as  to  the 
mode  of  publication,  it  was  next  to  impossible  for 
the  Corporation  to  proceed  against  him  for  libel ; — 
if  they  could  have  done  so,  his  punishment  was  cer- 
tain, for  in  those  days  there  were  none  but  "  Corpo- 
ration juries,"  and  the  fact  that  Boyle  was  hostile  to 
the  municipal  clique^  was  quite  enough  for  these 
worthy  administrators  of  justice.  It  happened,  on 
the  occasion  of  a  crowded  benefit  at  the  theatre,  that 
Boyle  and  one  of  the  Sheriffs  were  coming  out  of 
the  pit  at  the  same  moment.  A  sudden  crush  drove 
the  scribe  against  the  Sheriff,  and  the  concussion 
was  so  great  that  the  latter  had  two  of  his  ribs  bro- 
ken. There  could  be  no  doubt  that  tne  whole  was 
accidental ;  but  it  was  too  lucky  not  to  be  taken  ad- 
vantage of  Mr.  Boyle  was  prosecuted  for  assault 
O'Connell  was  retained  for  the  defence.  The  trial 
came  on  before  a  Corporation  jury.  The  e"vadence 
was  extremely  slight ;  but  it  was  an  understood 
thing  that  on  any  evidence,  or  no  evidence,  the  jury 
would  convict  Boyle.  Mr.  O'Connell  (who  was  per- 
sonally inimical  to  the  Corporation)  scarcelj^  cross- 
(examined  a  Avitness  and  called  none  in  defence. 

*  Boyle  died  at  Limerick,  in  '833,  of  cholera. 

18* 


418  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

He  proceeded  to  reply.  After  some  hyperbolical 
compliments  on  the  "  well-known  impartiality,  in- 
dependence, and  justice  of  a  Cork  jury,"  he  proceed- 
ed to  address  them  thus  : — "  I  had  no  notion  that 
the  case  is  what  it  is ;  therefore  I  call  no  witnesses. 
As  1  have  received  a  brief,  and  its  accompaniment — 
a  fee — I  must  address  you.  I  am  not  in  the  vein  for 
making  a  speech,  so,  gentlemen,  I  shall  tell  you  a 
story.  Some  years  ago  I  went,  specially,  to  Clon- 
mel  assizes,  and  accidentally  witnessed  a  trial  which 
I  never  shall  forget.  A  wretched  man,  a  native  of 
the  county  of  Tipperary,  was  charged  with  the  mur- 
der of  his  neighbour.  It.  seemed  that  an  ancient 
feud  existed  between  them.  They  had  met  at  a  fair 
and  exchanged  blows:  again,  that  evening,  they  met 
at  a  low  pot-house,  and  the  bodily  interference  of 
friends  alone  prevented  a  fight  between  them.  The 
prisoner  was  heard  to  vow  vengeance  against  his 
rival.  The  wretched  victim  left  the  house,  f  )llowed 
soon  after  by  the  prisoner,  and  was  found  next  day 
on  the  roadside — murdered,  and  his  face  so  barbar- 
ously beaten  in  by  a  stone,  that  he  could  only  be 
identified  by  his  dress.  The  ficts  were  strong  against 
the  prisoner— in  fact  it  was  the  strongest  case  of  cir- 
cumstantial evidence  I  ever  met  with.  As  a  matter 
of  form — for  of  his  guilt  there  could  be  no  doubt — 
the  prisoner  was  called  on  for  his  defence.  He  called, 
to  the  surprise  of  every  one,— the  murdered  man. 
And  the  murdered  man  came  forward.     It  seemed 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL.  419 

that  another  man  had  been  murdered, — t  at  the 
identification  by  dress  was  vague,  for  all  the  peasant- 
ry  of  Tipperary  wear  the  same  description  of  clothes, 
— ihat  the  presumed  victim  had  got  a  hint  that  he 
would  be  arrested  under  the  Whiteboy  Act, — had 
fled, — and  only  returned,  with  a  noble  and  Irish 
feeling  of  justice,  when  he  found  that  his  ancient 
foe  was  in  jeopardy  on  his  account.  The  case  was 
clear :  the  prisoner  was  innocent.  The  judge  told 
the  jury  that  it  was  unnecessary  to  charge  them. 
But  they  requested  permission  to  retire.  They  re- 
turned in  about  two  hours,  when  the  foreman,  with 
a  long  face,  handed  in  the  verdict  '  Guilty.'  Every 
one  was  astonished.  '  Good  God !'  said  the  judge, 
*of  what  is  he  guilty?  Not  of  murder,  surely?' — 
'  No,  my  lord,'  said  the  foreman;  '  but,  if  he  did  not 
murder  that  inan^  sure  he  stole  my  gray  mare  three 
years  agoP  "* 

The  Cork  jurors  laughed  heartily  at  this  anecdote, 
but,  ere  their  mirth  had  time  to  cool,  O'Connell  con- 
tinued, with  marked  emphasis,  "  So,  gentlemen  of 
the  jary,  though  Mr.  Boyle  did  not  wilfully  assault  the 
Sheriffs  he  has  libelled  the  Corporation, — find  him 
guilty,  by  all  means  r  The  application  was  so  se- 
vere, that  the  jury,  shamed  into  justice,  instantly 
acquitted  Mr.  Boyle. 

It  is  time  to  hurry  this  sketch  to  a  conclusion. 

*  Mr.  Love  has  "  conveyed"  this  incident  into  his  romance  of 
"  Jlory  O'More." 


420  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

Yet  a  few  words  about  the  man.  In  person,  Mr. 
O'Connell  was  well  made,  muscular,  and  tall.  He 
looked''tlie  man  to  be  the  leader  of  a  people.  He 
was  fond  of  field  sports,  and  while  at  Derrjnane 
Abbey,  for  four  months  in  the  year,  lived  like  a 
country  gentleman,  surrounded  by  his  numerous  rel- 
atives, and  exercising  the  wonted  hospitality  of  Ire- 
land. His  features  were  strongly  marked — the 
mouth  t  jing  much  more  expressive  than  the  eyes. 
His  voice  was  deep,  sonorous,  and  somewhat  touched 
with  the  true  Kerry  patois. 

■  He  was  seen  to  much  advantage  in  the  bosom  of 
his  family,  to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached,  a  feeling 
which  was  reciprocated  with  veneration  as  well  as 
love.  His  conversation  was  delightful,  embracing  a 
vast  range  of  subjects.  He  was  a  great  reader — and, 
even  in  the  most  busy  and  exciting  periods  of  his 
political  life,  found  (or  made)  time  to  peruse  the  pe- 
riodicals and  novels  of  the  day. 

He  was  well  acquainted  with  modern  poetry,  and 
was  fond  of  repeating  long  passages  from  Byron, 
Moore,  Scott,  Crabbe,  Tennyson,  and  others.  He 
was  a  good  classical  scholar,  though  I  have  heard 
him  say  that  he  doubted  whether,  after  the  age  of 
twenty-one,  he  had  ever  opened  a  Latin  or  Greek 
book  from  choice.  French  he  spoke  and  wrote  ex- 
tremely well.  Many  of  his  classical  hits,  in  Court, 
were  good — but  few  are  remembered.  I  shall  give 
one  as  a  sample.     In  a  political  trial  he  charged 


DANIFT.   O'CONNELL.  421 

Saurm,  the  Attorney-Genend,  with  some  official  un- 
fairness, and  Burke,  his  colleague,  chivalrously  as- 
sumed the  responsibility.  "  If  there  is  blame  in  it," 
said  Burke,  "  I  alone  must  bear  it. 

'  Me,  me,  aclsum  qui  feci,  in  me  convertite  ferrum.'  " 
"  Finish  the  sentence,  Mr.  Solicitor,"  said  O'Con- 

neU;  "add 

'  Mea  fraus  omnis.'  " 

When  at  home,  he  lived  in  the  good  old  Irish 
style.  He  kept  a  well-spread  table,  and  was  idolized 
by  the  peasantry.  His  residence,  Derrynane  Abbey, 
is  built  on  a  bold  situation,  next  the  Atlantic,  and 
commands  a  \'iew  of  the  Skelligs.  The  "Abbey," 
as  it  is  called,  is  a  comparatively  modern  edifice, 
which  has  received  various  additions  from  successive 
residents.  It  is  irregidarly  built;  so  much  so,  in- 
deed, as  to  be  any  thing  but  a  model  of  architecture. 
It  is  convenient,  and,  in  the  wOds  of  Kerry,  that 
should  suffice  ;  for  who  expects  a  Grecian  dome  in 
such  a  place  ?  The  real  Derrynane  Abbey  (or  rather 
its  ruins)  stands  on  a  little  island  in  the  Atlantic. 

There  is  little  statute-law  about  Derrynane,  and 
nearly  all  the  disputes  in  the  neighbourhood  were  al- 
lowed to  rest  until  O'Connell  could  decide  on  them. 
He  used  to  sit,  like  a  patriarch,  upon  a  huge  rock, 
in  view  and  hearing  of  the  tumultuous  throbbing  of 
the  Atlantic,  and  there  give  judgment,  against  which 
no  one  presumed  to  appeal.  Already  that  rugged 
seat  is  called  "  O'Connell's  Chair." 


422  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

On  the  15th  day  of  May,  18-17,  having  nearly 
comjjleted  his  seventy-second  year,' Daniel  O'Connell 
departed  this  life.  He  had  quitted  the  land  of  his 
birth  to  seek  for  renewal  of  health  beneath  more 
clement  skies^  ^k),  before  him,  had  Sir  W'alter  Scott. 
But  the  great  novelist  was  happier  than  the  illus- 
trious orator ;  and  died,  at  least,  in  his  own  country, 
and  in  his  own  house.  From  the  first,  it  seems  that 
O'Connell  entertained  no  hope  of  completing  his 
pilgrimage.  He  feared,  and  I  think  he  felt,  that  he 
was  not  destined  to  reach  Rome,  the  Eternal  City. 

The  account  of  his  last  days,  as  given,  at  the  time, 
by  Galignani's  Messenger  (the  English  journal  pub- 
lished in  Paris),  is  full  of  deep  interest.  It  is 
from  the  pen  of  Dr.  Duff,  the  English  physician 
who  attended  him  at  Genoa.  This  gentleman  first 
saw  him  on  the  10th  May — just  five  days  before  he 
died.  On  the  first  visit,  he  found  that  the  patient 
had  ckronic  bronchitis,  of  some  years'  standing. 
The  next  day  it  was  found  that  congestion  of  the 
brain  had  commenced.  On  the  12th,  the  illness  in- 
creased ;  for  the  patient,  like  Byron,  had  almost  an 
insuperable  objection  to  take  medicine.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  the  mind  began  to  waver.  On  the 
13th  he  became  worse,  slept  heavily  during  the 
night,  breathed  with  difficulty,  fancied  himself  among 
his  friends  in  London,  and  spoke  as  if  among  them. 
On  the  14th  the  words  fell,  half-formed,  from  his 
lips.     Thus  lie  lingered  until  the  next  night,  unable 


DANIEL  O'CONNELL.  428 

to  move  or  speak,  but  conscious  of  the  presence  oi 
those  around  him.  At  half-past  nine  on  that  night 
he  died.  Had  he  taken  nourishment  and  medicine, 
he  might  have  lived  a  few  days  longer.  But  not  all 
of  him  is  dead — his  memory  remains,  and  will  long 
be  kept  green  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen. 

Had  O'Gonnell  lived  until  the  6th  of  August,  he 
would  have  completed  his  seventy-second  year.  He 
enjoyed  excellent  health  through  the  greater  part  of 
his  life,  and  had  every  chance  of  living  to  extended 
old  age.  His  family  are  proverbially  long-Uved ; 
his  uncle  Maurice,  from  whom  he  inherited  Derry- 
nane  Abbey,  was  97  when  he  died;  and  O'Con- 
nell  repeatedly  said  that  he  intended  to  live  quite 
as  long,  if  lie  could^  nor  was  it  unlikely  that  he 
also  might  approach  the  patriarchal  age  of  one 
hundred  years. 

His  last  words  to  his  physician  conveyed  a  request 
that,  as  he  was  sure  he  would  present  the  appear- 
ance of  death  before  he  actually  breathed  his  last, 
they  would  not  suffer  the  grave  to  be  closed  too 
promptly  over  his  remains.  His  strong  hope  was 
to  die  in  Rome,'  his  last  moments  sootlied  and  sanc- 
tified by  the  blessing  of  Pope  Pius  IX.  He  repeat- 
edly expressed  a  desire  that  his  heart  should  rest 
(as  it  does)  in  one  of  the  Churches  of  the  Et^'rnai 
City.  This  wish  was  suggested,  it  has  been  said,  by 
the  recollection  that  Robert  Bruce  had  desired  his 
heart  to  be  conveyed  to  the  Holy  Land  and  deposited 


424  BITS   OF   BLARNEY. 

in  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem.  He  died  with- 
out pain,  gently  as  an  infant  sinks  into  repose,  calm- 
ed by  the  consolations  of  religion ;  and,  it  seemed 
to  Lis  attendants,  not  only  content  to  quit  mortality, 
but  even  anxious  to  be  released.  His  body  was 
embalmed,  and  is  deposited  in  the  Cemetery  of  Glas- 
nevin  near  Dublin. 

As  to  the  ability,  the  mental  resources,  the  vast 
power  of  O'Connell,  there  can  be  no  dispute.  Un- 
questionably he  was  the  greatest  Irishman  of  his 
time.  In  estimating  the  conduct  and  character  of 
public  men,  two  things,  it  appears  to  me,  should  be 
considered :  the  value  of  their  labours  and  their  mo- 
tive. O'Oonnell,  on  starting  into  life,  found  that  his 
religion  debarred  him  from  many  privileges  and  ad- 
vantages enjoyed  by  persons  of  another  creed,  and 
he  applied  himself,  earnestly,  to  remove  these  dis- 
abilities,' He  succeeded,  and  in  the  long  and  perse- 
vering struggle  which  he  headed,  acquired  vast 
influence,  and  a  popularity  which  h?lped,  with  the  aid 
of  his  own  legal  knowledge  and  skill,  to  place  him 
in  the  foremost  rank  of  his  profession.  At  the  age 
of  fifty-four — in  spite  of  the  saying  that  an  oak  of 
the  forest  rarely  bears  transplanting — he  entered  the 
British  Parliament,  where  he  soon  took  a  pi'ominent 
position.  Thenceforth  his  constant  aim  was  to  coax 
or  frighten  the  Government  into  tlic  concessions 
which  were  included  in  the  demand  for  "Justice  for 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  425 

Ireland."  The  threat  of  Repeal  was  used  for  this 
purpose. 

The  question  whether  he  really  desired  to  carry 
Repeal  is  difficult  to  be  answered.  That  Ireland 
should  have  laws  made  for  herself,  by  her  own 
legislature,  may  or  may  not  have  been  a  dcvsire  with 
O'Oonnell.  But  that,  when  agitating  for  the  Repeal 
of  the  parchment  union  between  Ireland  and  Great 
Britain,  he  had  the  remotest  intention  or  wish  to  ef- 
fect the  separation  of  the  two  countries,  no  thought- 
ful observer  can  imagine.  Separation,  in  O'Con- 
nell's  eyes,  meant  a  Republic,  and  O'Connell  was 
essentially  a  Monarchist.  He  had  an  antipathy, 
also,  to  the  exercise  of  physical  force  to  procure  the 
restitution  of  a  people's  rights.  In  all  probability, 
had  he  lived  during  the  struggle  of  the  American 
colonies,  O'Connell  would  have  sided  with  those  who 
condemned  the  Americans  as  "  rebels  to  their  King." 
Truth  to  say,  he  was  rather  an  -ultra-loyalist.  This 
appeared,  in  1821,  when,  kneeling  on  the  shore,  at 
Dunleary,  he  presented  a  crown  of  laurel  to  George 
IV.,— in  1832,  when  he  glorified  William  IV.  as  the 
"  patriot  King"' — in  1837,  when  he  appealed  (at  the 
elections'^  in  fiivor  of  Victoria  as  "  a  Virgin-Queen," 
forgetful  that  this  distinctive  epithet,  belonging  to 
all  unmarried  girls  of  eighteen,  would  be  forfeited, 
of  course,  luhen  she  became  a  wife  ! 

It  may  be  conceded,  however,  that  though  O'Oon- 
nell would  have  shrunk  from  seeing  Ireland  actually 


426  BITS  OF  BLARNEY. 

separated  from  England,  lie  was  sincere  in  his  exer- 
tions to  obtain  Emancipation,  and,  subsequently,  tc 
wrest  other  rights  and  privileges  from  successive  ad- 
ministrations. "Ireland  for  the  Irish"  was  his 
favourite  cry ;  bat  it  meant  little  when  uttered  by  a 
man  who  feverishly  feared  all  real  agitation,  tending 
to  assert  and  Secure  the  actual  independence  of  the 
country.  With  him,  "  Repeal,"  if  it  meant  any  thing, 
meant  continuance  under  the  rule  of  the  British 
Sovereign,  "  Repeal  "  was  a  capital  party  cry,  but 
he  dreaded  it  when  it  was  taken  up  by  men  not  less 
patriotic,  though  a  little  less  "loyal  "  than  himself, 
who  thought  that  boldness,  courage,  union,  and 
talent  could  raise  Ireland  from  a  provincial  obscurity 
into  a  national  independence. 

Great  good  was  undoubtedly  performed  by  O'Con- 
nell.  His  course  was  often  eccentric,  capricious,  in- 
explicable. His  abilities  were  great.  He  made  much 
of  opportunities.  He  wielded  all  but  sovereign  powei 
over  his  countrymen  for  years.  He  naturally  be 
came  impatient  of  contradiction,  and  very  impracti 
cable.  But,  with  all  his  faults,  O'Connell  was  essen 
tially  a  great  man. 


THE  END. 


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